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 Solomon Islands and from Beijing.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Dead Boys to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Bootsy Collins. All the underground hits.
All John Lydon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Almond record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 güiro and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sparks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Barracudas,
Cybotron,
Deepchord,
Terrestrial Tones,
Harmonia,
Kurtis Blow,
Mr. Review,
Freddie Wadling,
Prince Buster,
Porter Ricks,
Ronnie Foster,
Parry Music,
June Days,
The Residents,
John Lydon,
The Modern Lovers,
Eric B and Rakim,
Roxy Music,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pagans,
The Leaves,
Wasted Youth,
Derrick May,
Lucky Dragons,
Rites of Spring,
Stockholm Monsters,
Moby Grape,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Matthew Bourne,
Yellowson,
Idris Muhammad,
Gregory Isaacs,
Bobby Womack,
Pantytec,
The Trojans,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
cv313,
Los Fastidios,
Masters at Work,
Wally Richardson,
The Moody Blues,
Anakelly,
Qualms,
Harry Pussy,
Deadbeat,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Whodini,
Flipper,
Tubeway Army,
Oneida,
Darondo,
Boogie Down Productions,
Michelle Simonal,
The Sound,
Lou Christie,
Infiniti,
Metal Thangz,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Mandrill,
Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee.
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.