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 Liberia and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Lagos.
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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Stiv Bators 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 Suburban Knight. All the underground hits.
All Hoover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aaron Thompson 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Glenn Branca,
Barrington Levy,
Al Stewart,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Detroit Cobras,
Roxette,
T.S.O.L.,
U.S. Maple,
The Misunderstood,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Roger Hodgson,
Slick Rick,
Gang Gang Dance,
Roxy Music,
The Dead C,
Lalann,
Radio Birdman,
The New Christs,
Juan Atkins,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Raincoats,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Flamin' Groovies,
Yusef Lateef,
Nick Fraelich,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Nation of Ulysses,
Neu!,
Silicon Teens,
Mad Mike,
Television,
H. Thieme,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Alphaville,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Smiths,
Drive Like Jehu,
Drexciya,
Lyres,
Aloha Tigers,
Average White Band,
Oneida,
The Trojans,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Television Personalities,
The Mojo Men,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Amazonics,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Wally Richardson,
Barclay James Harvest,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
the Swans,
JFA,
Bobby Womack,
Barbara Tucker,
Tubeway Army,
Byron Stingily,
The Fortunes,
Metal Thangz,
Faust, Faust, Faust, Faust.
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.