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 Bangladesh and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Lungfish. All the underground hits.
All Charles Mingus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 sitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Iggy Pop,
ABBA,
One Last Wish,
Sixth Finger,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Graham Central Station,
8 Eyed Spy,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Funkadelic,
The Remains,
Flamin' Groovies,
Jerry's Kids,
The Victims,
Danielle Patucci,
Vladislav Delay,
Brothers Johnson,
Roxette,
Zero Boys,
Traffic Nightmare,
Morten Harket,
The Fire Engines,
Crime,
Livin' Joy,
MDC,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Dave Clark Five,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Matthew Bourne,
Siglo XX,
Brass Construction,
Cecil Taylor,
Pylon,
The Blues Magoos,
The Index,
OOIOO,
Lou Christie,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Barclay James Harvest,
Lucky Dragons,
Maleditus Sound,
Sugar Minott,
The Fall,
The Evens,
Negative Approach,
Soft Cell,
Ituana,
Popol Vuh,
June Days,
Monolake,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Sound,
Liliput,
Suburban Knight,
Glambeats Corp.,
Sex Pistols,
Dennis Brown,
Marshall Jefferson,
Pussy Galore,
Skriet,
Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle.
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.