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 Togo and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Make Up to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Rod Modell. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wasted Youth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Livin' Joy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Barbara Tucker,
Von Mondo,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
A Certain Ratio,
Sound Behaviour,
John Coltrane,
John Cale,
Buzzcocks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Index,
the Fania All-Stars,
Scrapy,
Suicide,
The Pop Group,
The Fire Engines,
David McCallum,
Charles Mingus,
Aloha Tigers,
The Count Five,
Bobby Sherman,
Minny Pops,
Sällskapet,
The Misunderstood,
Black Flag,
Ice-T,
Intrusion,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Newcleus,
The Names,
Oneida,
the Soft Cell,
June of 44,
Angry Samoans,
AZ,
Pharoah Sanders,
Banda Bassotti,
The Monks,
Spoonie Gee,
Severed Heads,
Johnny Clarke,
Section 25,
The Saints,
Tres Demented,
Theoretical Girls,
Yellowson,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Electric Prunes,
Fluxion,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Gap Band,
Half Japanese,
The Blues Magoos,
Warsaw,
Brick,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Beau Brummels,
Jacques Brel,
F. McDonald,
Eden Ahbez, Eden Ahbez, Eden Ahbez, Eden Ahbez.
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.