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 Mumbai.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Suicide to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 World's Most. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & Metallica tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Q and Not U record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grauzone,
Johnny Osbourne,
Moby Grape,
Organ,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Deepchord,
Gil Scott Heron,
Cameo,
Buzzcocks,
Royal Trux,
the Normal,
X-Ray Spex,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Bill Wells,
Judy Mowatt,
The Black Dice,
Tropical Tobacco,
X-101,
The Mojo Men,
Matthew Halsall,
Laurel Aitken,
Donald Byrd,
Section 25,
Fela Kuti,
Cecil Taylor,
Dual Sessions,
Camouflage,
Black Bananas,
Tears for Fears,
The Invisible,
Simply Red,
Bobby Womack,
The Saints,
Mandrill,
Marmalade,
The Doors,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Beau Brummels,
Rapeman,
Faust,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ornette Coleman,
Index,
Oblivians,
Ice-T,
The Durutti Column,
Rakim,
Jacques Brel,
The Dave Clark Five,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Moleskins,
Stockholm Monsters,
DJ Sneak,
Soul II Soul,
Von Mondo,
Cluster,
The Names,
Big Daddy Kane,
Pharoah Sanders,
Derrick May,
Fear,
Saccharine Trust,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano.
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.