Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from the UAE and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing the Soft Cell to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jerry Gold Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Smog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Davy DMX,
Marmalade,
Electric Prunes,
Dead Boys,
Sex Pistols,
Flipper,
Gastr Del Sol,
Robert Hood,
Brick,
Interpol,
The Fugs,
Wally Richardson,
Gang of Four,
Q65,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The New Christs,
X-102,
Mary Jane Girls,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Skatalites,
Absolute Body Control,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Durutti Column,
DJ Sneak,
A Certain Ratio,
Alison Limerick,
Donald Byrd,
New Age Steppers,
Jesper Dahlback,
Moss Icon,
Glambeats Corp.,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Smoke,
Mo-Dettes,
Jawbox,
Anakelly,
Junior Murvin,
Gong,
Massinfluence,
These Immortal Souls,
Tomorrow,
In Retrospect,
Throbbing Gristle,
Robert Wyatt,
Section 25,
Unwound,
Sugar Minott,
X-101,
The Fall,
Harpers Bizarre,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Sällskapet,
Rufus Thomas,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Adolescents,
T. Rex,
Kaleidoscope,
Juan Atkins,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Japan,
Harry Pussy,
Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.