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 Swaziland and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Amon Düül II to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Gil Scott Heron. All the underground hits.
All DNA tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gastr Del Sol 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
48th St. Collective,
The Skatalites,
Bill Near,
Swell Maps,
Bluetip,
Cheater Slicks,
Index,
Moebius,
Sarah Menescal,
Dawn Penn,
The Invisible,
Aural Exciters,
Barbara Tucker,
The Kinks,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Eddi Front,
The Fall,
The Techniques,
Roy Ayers,
Los Fastidios,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Man Eating Sloth,
Marshall Jefferson,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Cosmic Jokers,
James White and The Blacks,
Lee Hazlewood,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Warren Ellis,
Electric Prunes,
Blossom Toes,
Barry Ungar,
Guru Guru,
The Pop Group,
David McCallum,
The Fuzztones,
Anthony Braxton,
the Germs,
T.S.O.L.,
The Associates,
Thee Headcoats,
Sex Pistols,
LL Cool J,
Avey Tare,
Ludus,
the Slits,
Gang Gang Dance,
Danielle Patucci,
Arthur Verocai,
Lyres,
Q and Not U,
Amon Düül,
Hardrive,
Funky Four + One,
Stiv Bators,
Robert Hood,
Black Flag,
The American Breed,
Shoche, Shoche, Shoche, Shoche.
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.