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 Sweden and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 chamberlin 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 The Star Department to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 JFA. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Alarm Clocks 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Selecter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
ABBA,
Big Daddy Kane,
Roxy Music,
Eurythmics,
CMW,
John Foxx,
Sandy B,
The Sound,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Leonard Cohen,
Flipper,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Residents,
Sonic Youth,
Lower 48,
Spandau Ballet,
K-Klass,
Interpol,
Parry Music,
Terry Callier,
The Standells,
Ponytail,
ABC,
Fat Boys,
Barbara Tucker,
The Electric Prunes,
Chrome,
This Heat,
Rotary Connection,
John Holt,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Cybotron,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Nik Kershaw,
Henry Cow,
KRS-One,
Chris Corsano,
Crooked Eye,
Scrapy,
Can,
The United States of America,
Byron Stingily,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Tim Buckley,
The Saints,
David Axelrod,
Amon Düül II,
Sex Pistols,
Kayak,
Gang of Four,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
kango's stein massive,
Electric Prunes,
Y Pants,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pussy Galore,
Peter and Kerry,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Swell Maps,
Lou Reed & John Cale, Lou Reed & John Cale, Lou Reed & John Cale, Lou Reed & John Cale.
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.