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 Uruguay and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Manila.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Pantytec to the grunge 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 Archie Shepp. All the underground hits.
All Television Personalities tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Surgeon 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
Skarface,
The Gories,
Barclay James Harvest,
Marvin Gaye,
Oneida,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Grass Roots,
Kerrie Biddell,
Avey Tare,
Visage,
Bang On A Can,
The Toasters,
Oblivians,
Procol Harum,
The Slits,
DJ Sneak,
the Human League,
Monks,
Rufus Thomas,
The Kinks,
Television,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Eddi Front,
Japan,
The Dirtbombs,
Junior Murvin,
Blake Baxter,
Intrusion,
Jesper Dahlback,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Thee Headcoats,
Minny Pops,
Joey Negro,
Marine Girls,
Hoover,
The Trojans,
Eden Ahbez,
Juan Atkins,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Minutemen,
DJ Style,
The Human League,
The Moody Blues,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ronan,
Stiv Bators,
The Doors,
Section 25,
Angry Samoans,
Steve Hackett,
CMW,
Idris Muhammad,
Leonard Cohen,
Barbara Tucker,
Freddie Wadling,
Neu!,
June Days,
Tubeway Army,
Ultra Naté,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.