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 Zimbabwe and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Fort Wilson Riot to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Tim Buckley. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Spoonie Gee record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sun City Girls,
the Swans,
Wally Richardson,
Boz Scaggs,
Yazoo,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Sun Ra,
Bill Near,
Reuben Wilson,
Loose Ends,
The Electric Prunes,
Throbbing Gristle,
Second Layer,
Amazonics,
Amon Düül,
Rakim,
Jandek,
Hot Snakes,
Eddi Front,
Lindisfarne,
Arcadia,
Ornette Coleman,
X-Ray Spex,
Lee Hazlewood,
Jeru the Damaja,
Blake Baxter,
Brass Construction,
Scratch Acid,
Roger Hodgson,
Interpol,
Minny Pops,
The Gun Club,
The Saints,
Bob Dylan,
Magazine,
Sight & Sound,
Kaleidoscope,
Derrick May,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Harpers Bizarre,
Jawbox,
Y Pants,
Joe Finger,
Eden Ahbez,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Isaac Hayes,
Tom Boy,
Amon Düül II,
Mars,
Jimmy McGriff,
Scott Walker,
Royal Trux,
Pulsallama,
Alphaville,
Radio Birdman,
Delon & Dalcan,
Black Bananas,
Arab on Radar,
Faraquet,
Spoonie Gee,
The Selecter,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.