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 Tonga and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the sitar 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 Kenny Larkin to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Monolake. All the underground hits.
All The Golliwogs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Groovy Waters 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Blues Magoos,
Faust,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Toasters,
The Detroit Cobras,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Niagra,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Marc Almond,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lou Reed,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Mojo Men,
EPMD,
Fat Boys,
Blancmange,
Sandy B,
Skriet,
Reagan Youth,
Das Ding,
Heaven 17,
Nirvana,
Sun Ra,
PIL,
The Grass Roots,
The Divine Comedy,
Eli Mardock,
Lungfish,
Babytalk,
Trumans Water,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Slits,
Mad Mike,
Angry Samoans,
Gang of Four,
The Star Department,
The Misunderstood,
Tears for Fears,
Peter & Gordon,
Sugar Minott,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Buckinghams,
The Modern Lovers,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ken Boothe,
Ohio Players,
Traffic Nightmare,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Johnny Clarke,
John Coltrane,
Symarip,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Dennis Brown,
The Evens,
Erasure,
The Alarm Clocks,
Khruangbin,
Scientists, Scientists, Scientists, Scientists.
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.