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 Tunisia and from Manila.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 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 The Count Five to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. All the underground hits.
All Oppenheimer Analysis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Thee Headcoats,
Suicide,
Supertramp,
Soulsonic Force,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Man Eating Sloth,
Clear Light,
the Germs,
Crash Course in Science,
Davy DMX,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Fluxion,
Gastr Del Sol,
Iggy Pop,
Index,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Offenders,
The Dead C,
Janne Schatter,
Althea and Donna,
Schoolly D,
Ultimate Spinach,
Y Pants,
The Tremeloes,
The Techniques,
Agent Orange,
Pulsallama,
Heaven 17,
The Selecter,
Angry Samoans,
Hot Snakes,
Reagan Youth,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Soul II Soul,
AZ,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Quantec,
Blancmange,
Lindisfarne,
EPMD,
Jesper Dahlback,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Avey Tare,
The Pop Group,
Skaos,
The Buckinghams,
Mission of Burma,
The Standells,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Marshall Jefferson,
Rites of Spring,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
F. McDonald,
K-Klass,
Babytalk,
Toni Rubio,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Minor Threat,
Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja.
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.