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 Algeria and from Stockholm.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the theremin 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 Theoretical Girls to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Severed Heads. All the underground hits.
All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gian Franco Pienzio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
X-102,
The Dead C,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sarah Menescal,
The Seeds,
Gang Green,
Babytalk,
T. Rex,
Derrick May,
Barrington Levy,
The Golliwogs,
the Germs,
The Mojo Men,
ABBA,
Severed Heads,
The Durutti Column,
Jawbox,
Terrestrial Tones,
Franke,
Procol Harum,
The Move,
New York Dolls,
The Monks,
Rhythm & Sound,
Terry Callier,
Bluetip,
Roxy Music,
Young Marble Giants,
Joe Finger,
Lee Hazlewood,
Infiniti,
Groovy Waters,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Peter & Gordon,
U.S. Maple,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Davy DMX,
Deakin,
Bauhaus,
Whodini,
Desert Stars,
Harry Pussy,
Cameo,
Glambeats Corp.,
Agitation Free,
Scrapy,
Delon & Dalcan,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Associates,
Yazoo,
Pantaleimon,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Barclay James Harvest,
Scientists,
Unrelated Segments,
The Martian,
The Names,
DJ Style,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Camberwell Now,
Kerrie Biddell, Kerrie Biddell, Kerrie Biddell, Kerrie Biddell.
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.