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 Macedonia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Robert Palmer 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 Mission of Burma to the rock 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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All Gang Green tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Electric Prunes,
U.S. Maple,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Barbara Tucker,
Amazonics,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Los Fastidios,
Sister Nancy,
the Soft Cell,
La Düsseldorf,
Davy DMX,
Maurizio,
Joyce Sims,
Desert Stars,
Glenn Branca,
Susan Cadogan,
The Walker Brothers,
Quando Quango,
Scion,
Quantec,
Kayak,
Throbbing Gristle,
Yazoo,
Pussy Galore,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Misunderstood,
Traffic Nightmare,
Johnny Clarke,
Joey Negro,
Rufus Thomas,
Junior Murvin,
Rites of Spring,
Idris Muhammad,
Tubeway Army,
the Slits,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Cabaret Voltaire,
June of 44,
Make Up,
E-Dancer,
Marine Girls,
The Gladiators,
Warsaw,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Simply Red,
Tommy Roe,
Warren Ellis,
Marmalade,
The Slits,
Saccharine Trust,
Gang Gang Dance,
New York Dolls,
Anthony Braxton,
Ossler,
Fear,
Flash Fearless,
The Motions,
The Real Kids,
Cheater Slicks,
Sixth Finger,
Sam Rivers,
Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band.
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.