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 Tanzania and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Deepchord to the electroclash 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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All Arthur Verocai tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slick Rick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lalo Schifrin,
Pharoah Sanders,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Standells,
Spoonie Gee,
Stereo Dub,
Steve Hackett,
Arcadia,
Scrapy,
The Invisible,
Quantec,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Minutemen,
The Gladiators,
Radio Birdman,
the Sonics,
Stiv Bators,
Skriet,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Cramps,
The J.B.'s,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bobby Sherman,
Throbbing Gristle,
Faust,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Soul II Soul,
Sonic Youth,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pantytec,
Kas Product,
Flash Fearless,
The Red Krayola,
Saccharine Trust,
Maurizio,
Kenny Larkin,
Neu!,
Ultra Naté,
Derrick May,
T. Rex,
Kerrie Biddell,
Surgeon,
Siglo XX,
The Music Machine,
Al Stewart,
Lower 48,
Judy Mowatt,
Andrew Hill,
the Swans,
Arab on Radar,
The Mojo Men,
Jimmy McGriff,
Albert Ayler,
Donald Byrd,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Visage,
Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore.
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.