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 Paraguay and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 Sex Pistols to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 the Human League. All the underground hits.
All B.T. Express tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joey Negro record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
James Chance & The Contortions,
Joe Finger,
Banda Bassotti,
Black Bananas,
Danielle Patucci,
Reuben Wilson,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Saints,
Lucky Dragons,
a-ha,
Unwound,
The Kinks,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Angels of Light,
Fugazi,
Slick Rick,
Black Flag,
K-Klass,
Eli Mardock,
Bobby Sherman,
Jeru the Damaja,
Tomorrow,
Intrusion,
EPMD,
Idris Muhammad,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Smoke,
Kaleidoscope,
Grauzone,
ABBA,
Todd Terry,
Negative Approach,
Jesper Dahlback,
Stiv Bators,
Yusef Lateef,
Rekid,
Bronski Beat,
The Wake,
The Dirtbombs,
The Fall,
Gastr Del Sol,
Andrew Hill,
Erasure,
Spandau Ballet,
The Last Poets,
Glenn Branca,
Tubeway Army,
Terrestrial Tones,
Magazine,
Kevin Saunderson,
Gang Green,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Pantytec,
48th St. Collective,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Basic Channel,
The Offenders,
Chris & Cosey,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Jerry's Kids,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Brothers Johnson,
Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield.
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.