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 Cyprus and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Lou Reed 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 48th St. Collective to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Blossom Toes. All the underground hits.
All Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arcadia record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moss Icon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Procol Harum,
The Slits,
The Kinks,
Todd Rundgren,
Bobby Womack,
Marshall Jefferson,
Aswad,
the Swans,
Lindisfarne,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Raincoats,
Symarip,
One Last Wish,
Los Fastidios,
Bootsy Collins,
Liliput,
The Stooges,
James White and The Blacks,
Saccharine Trust,
Qualms,
Alphaville,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Freddie Wadling,
Oblivians,
Camberwell Now,
The Remains,
Monolake,
Toni Rubio,
The Index,
FM Einheit,
Boredoms,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Brass Construction,
Nils Olav,
The Gladiators,
Franke,
Cecil Taylor,
Man Eating Sloth,
Marvin Gaye,
Tommy Roe,
B.T. Express,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Minnie Riperton,
Supertramp,
Grey Daturas,
Rod Modell,
Ultra Naté,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Delon & Dalcan,
Gang Starr,
Eric Dolphy,
Iggy Pop,
Soul II Soul,
Pussy Galore,
The Barracudas,
The Sound,
The Move,
Jerry's Kids,
Moebius,
Cymande,
Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid.
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.