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 Argentina and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 rhodes 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 T. Rex to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Lou Reed & John Cale. All the underground hits.
All CMW tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Von Mondo record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cowsills,
The Offenders,
Metal Thangz,
Nico,
Ken Boothe,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Skatalites,
48th St. Collective,
New Age Steppers,
The Busters,
Sonny Sharrock,
Q and Not U,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Harpers Bizarre,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sparks,
David McCallum,
Glenn Branca,
Bluetip,
Section 25,
Joyce Sims,
Angry Samoans,
Index,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Thee Headcoats,
Radiohead,
Quadrant,
Adolescents,
Mars,
The Wake,
Sandy B,
Aloha Tigers,
The Names,
Bang On A Can,
The Happenings,
The Real Kids,
Crime,
Ronan,
Crispy Ambulance,
Con Funk Shun,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Golliwogs,
Easy Going,
Livin' Joy,
Babytalk,
F. McDonald,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Liliput,
Lyres,
Arcadia,
A Certain Ratio,
Henry Cow,
The Pretty Things,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Faraquet,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bauhaus,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Hoover,
Bill Wells,
Kurtis Blow,
China Crisis,
Traffic Nightmare,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.