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 Malawi and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Clear Light to the grime 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 The Monks. All the underground hits.
All Dave Gahan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Simply Red 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a D'Angelo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Banda Bassotti,
The Skatalites,
Accadde A,
Drexciya,
The Dirtbombs,
The Names,
Bobby Byrd,
World's Most,
Fifty Foot Hose,
DJ Sneak,
Pere Ubu,
10cc,
Dave Gahan,
Ken Boothe,
Television Personalities,
The Angels of Light,
New Order,
The Fire Engines,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Lou Christie,
Crime,
Sonny Sharrock,
Black Flag,
Roxy Music,
Circle Jerks,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Letta Mbulu,
Aloha Tigers,
Crispy Ambulance,
Nils Olav,
Niagra,
Organ,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Susan Cadogan,
Agent Orange,
The Fugs,
Surgeon,
Jeru the Damaja,
Mars,
The Move,
Icehouse,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Scrapy,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Slits,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Bad Manners,
Terry Callier,
Tim Buckley,
Unwound,
Stereo Dub,
X-102,
Hot Snakes,
Juan Atkins,
Donny Hathaway,
Radiohead,
Ohio Players,
The Evens,
John Lydon,
Mad Mike,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ultramagnetic MC's, Ultramagnetic MC's, Ultramagnetic MC's, Ultramagnetic MC's.
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.