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 Kenya and from Edmonton.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Johnny Clarke to the funk 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 E-Dancer. All the underground hits.
All Sex Pistols tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Curtis Mayfield 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Y Pants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bronski Beat,
Lower 48,
Harmonia,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
the Bar-Kays,
Sun Ra,
Neil Young,
Ultimate Spinach,
Visage,
Stiv Bators,
Tim Buckley,
Pharoah Sanders,
Pagans,
Y Pants,
Pussy Galore,
Colin Newman,
Q65,
The Walker Brothers,
Kerrie Biddell,
the Human League,
Donald Byrd,
The Five Americans,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Rod Modell,
Eric Copeland,
Gang Gang Dance,
Kayak,
Hoover,
Idris Muhammad,
The Cure,
The Dirtbombs,
Fad Gadget,
Rotary Connection,
Maleditus Sound,
Ronan,
Crash Course in Science,
The Beau Brummels,
Ohio Players,
Anakelly,
Tears for Fears,
Tres Demented,
Prince Buster,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Marmalade,
Kaleidoscope,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Arab on Radar,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Spoonie Gee,
Vainqueur,
UT,
Oneida,
Liliput,
Joe Finger,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Fortunes,
Josef K,
Marc Almond,
Franke,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Wolf Eyes, Wolf Eyes, Wolf Eyes, Wolf Eyes.
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.