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 Lebanon and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Mighty Diamonds to the techno 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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Detroit Cobras record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monochrome Set record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dead Boys,
Banda Bassotti,
The Fire Engines,
Byron Stingily,
Ronnie Foster,
Hashim,
Jeff Mills,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Connie Case,
Fat Boys,
Henry Cow,
The Offenders,
The Beau Brummels,
Wire,
Porter Ricks,
Toni Rubio,
Malaria!,
Blossom Toes,
The New Christs,
The Blackbyrds,
Panda Bear,
8 Eyed Spy,
Gang of Four,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Invisible,
the Association,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Gories,
The Detroit Cobras,
Spoonie Gee,
Zapp,
The Young Rascals,
Whodini,
The Skatalites,
Little Man,
Scion,
Robert Görl,
Rekid,
Lou Christie,
Quadrant,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Dave Gahan,
Gichy Dan,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Pop Group,
Average White Band,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Sound,
Deadbeat,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Tim Buckley,
Section 25,
a-ha,
Rod Modell,
Derrick Morgan,
JFA,
Bob Dylan,
DJ Style,
John Foxx,
Wasted Youth,
John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon.
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.