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 Saudi Arabia and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 Michael McDonald 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 Toni Rubio to the techno 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Main Source tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mo-Dettes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DJ Sneak record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin 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 Trojans,
Technova,
Eric Copeland,
Sällskapet,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Trumans Water,
The Litter,
Mo-Dettes,
Albert Ayler,
X-Ray Spex,
Main Source,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Pere Ubu,
Marc Almond,
Sam Rivers,
Frankie Knuckles,
Lindisfarne,
Dual Sessions,
Index,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Modern Lovers,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Move,
Faraquet,
The Neon Judgement,
Joy Division,
Los Fastidios,
Scion,
The Cowsills,
Wire,
Idris Muhammad,
Eddi Front,
Suburban Knight,
Absolute Body Control,
John Coltrane,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Severed Heads,
Moebius,
the Association,
Tropical Tobacco,
Cameo,
Wolf Eyes,
Jandek,
Dennis Brown,
Crispian St. Peters,
Nation of Ulysses,
the Slits,
New Age Steppers,
the Bar-Kays,
Amon Düül II,
Electric Prunes,
Ludus,
Dave Gahan,
Roger Hodgson,
Ituana,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Agitation Free,
The Gap Band,
Deadbeat,
James White and The Blacks,
Second Layer,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
the Normal, the Normal, the Normal, the Normal.
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.