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 Argentina and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Copenhagen.
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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
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 The Dirtbombs to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Velvet Underground. All the underground hits.
All The Five Americans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric Copeland record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smoke,
Rosa Yemen,
Lalann,
Hasil Adkins,
Los Fastidios,
Kurtis Blow,
Vainqueur,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Roy Ayers,
The Offenders,
Robert Wyatt,
Isaac Hayes,
Ossler,
E-Dancer,
Moby Grape,
The Walker Brothers,
Tommy Roe,
Tears for Fears,
Tubeway Army,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Music Machine,
Black Pus,
Flipper,
Suburban Knight,
Michelle Simonal,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pierre Henry,
Shoche,
Letta Mbulu,
Ronnie Foster,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
K-Klass,
The Slits,
Tropical Tobacco,
Todd Rundgren,
Gabor Szabo,
Section 25,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Victims,
Wings,
The Gap Band,
Joe Finger,
Wire,
Technova,
The Fugs,
Tom Boy,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Gang Gang Dance,
DJ Style,
Bauhaus,
Von Mondo,
Rites of Spring,
Mo-Dettes,
ABBA,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Durutti Column,
Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron.
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.