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 Chad and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Bobby Sherman to the punk 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 The Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 chamberlin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Colin Newman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Little Man,
Funkadelic,
Dawn Penn,
Grandmaster Flash,
Toni Rubio,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Skatalites,
UT,
Metal Thangz,
DNA,
T. Rex,
Joensuu 1685,
Deadbeat,
Minnie Riperton,
The Cramps,
The Dirtbombs,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Organ,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Moleskins,
kango's stein massive,
Man Parrish,
Drexciya,
Alice Coltrane,
H. Thieme,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Detroit Cobras,
Mad Mike,
Barrington Levy,
Bang On A Can,
Danielle Patucci,
Glenn Branca,
The Mummies,
Agitation Free,
The Electric Prunes,
The Sonics,
Crooked Eye,
the Bar-Kays,
Second Layer,
Shoche,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Warsaw,
The Happenings,
Rosa Yemen,
Sparks,
the Slits,
Camberwell Now,
Max Romeo,
Banda Bassotti,
Flamin' Groovies,
Eric B and Rakim,
Symarip,
The Fugs,
The Barracudas,
China Crisis,
James White and The Blacks,
Eddi Front,
R.M.O.,
Barbara Tucker,
Ten City,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.