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 Sudan and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Gregory Isaacs to the grime 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 Harry Pussy. All the underground hits.
All Nils Olav tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every kango's stein massive 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bronski Beat record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Sheep,
Ronan,
Index,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Black Flag,
Crispian St. Peters,
Dead Boys,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Soft Machine,
Danielle Patucci,
The Young Rascals,
Trumans Water,
Robert Hood,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Fugazi,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Dorothy Ashby,
E-Dancer,
Saccharine Trust,
Brick,
Anakelly,
Scientists,
Mary Jane Girls,
T. Rex,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Symarip,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Quantec,
F. McDonald,
the Swans,
Roger Hodgson,
Japan,
Fad Gadget,
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Monks,
The Martian,
Accadde A,
The Divine Comedy,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Monks,
Charles Mingus,
Lyres,
Frankie Knuckles,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bizarre Inc.,
Masters at Work,
Ornette Coleman,
Supertramp,
Goldenarms,
The American Breed,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Warren Ellis,
Cybotron,
June of 44,
The Residents,
The Golliwogs,
Judy Mowatt,
Jacob Miller,
Hot Snakes,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Aural Exciters,
Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip.
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.