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 Colombia and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Idris Muhammad to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Judy Mowatt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Adolescents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
The Electric Prunes,
Severed Heads,
Ossler,
Lower 48,
Smog,
Tommy Roe,
Grey Daturas,
Saccharine Trust,
Deadbeat,
Cecil Taylor,
Kurtis Blow,
Half Japanese,
Barrington Levy,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Sound,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Martian,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Piero Umiliani,
Josef K,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Depeche Mode,
Wally Richardson,
Bush Tetras,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Last Poets,
Jacob Miller,
The American Breed,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Dead C,
Sonic Youth,
Howard Jones,
Glambeats Corp.,
Aloha Tigers,
Kerri Chandler,
Newcleus,
Roger Hodgson,
Skarface,
Dawn Penn,
Absolute Body Control,
Average White Band,
Arthur Verocai,
Chris Corsano,
Lakeside,
the Normal,
Rotary Connection,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Mission of Burma,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Swell Maps,
Altered Images,
Derrick Morgan,
Liliput,
Drive Like Jehu,
K-Klass,
Lou Reed,
The Mummies,
Country Teasers,
Brothers Johnson,
Laurel Aitken,
Ultimate Spinach,
Arab on Radar,
the Human League, the Human League, the Human League, the Human League.
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.