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 Armenia and from Mexico City.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the organ 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 Lou Christie to the grime 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 Grandmaster Flash. All the underground hits.
All The Dirtbombs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mummies 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cameo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eurythmics,
Eve St. Jones,
The Real Kids,
The Cure,
Liliput,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Trojans,
Loose Ends,
Eli Mardock,
The Alarm Clocks,
Barbara Tucker,
Avey Tare,
the Slits,
Marine Girls,
Rotary Connection,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Move,
Sam Rivers,
Junior Murvin,
The Smoke,
John Lydon,
Icehouse,
Andrew Hill,
ABC,
Sister Nancy,
Qualms,
the Swans,
The Smiths,
Skriet,
U.S. Maple,
Tres Demented,
Section 25,
The Barracudas,
Reagan Youth,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Beau Brummels,
F. McDonald,
Minor Threat,
Rufus Thomas,
Gabor Szabo,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Shoche,
Talk Talk,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Last Poets,
Drive Like Jehu,
Cluster,
Bobby Sherman,
Crispy Ambulance,
Eric B and Rakim,
Arab on Radar,
The J.B.'s,
Theoretical Girls,
New Order,
Hashim,
Rapeman,
Cheater Slicks,
Aaron Thompson,
Sight & Sound,
Moebius,
Brick, Brick, Brick, Brick.
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.