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 Burkina and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 harpsichord 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 Pagans to the dance 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 Boogie Down Productions. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Whodini record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sly & The Family Stone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
The Monks,
Sight & Sound,
the Sonics,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Fortunes,
Skriet,
The Barracudas,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Technova,
Ludus,
The Vogues,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Theoretical Girls,
The Durutti Column,
The Raincoats,
CMW,
Lower 48,
Eurythmics,
Dave Gahan,
Marmalade,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Pet Shop Boys,
T.S.O.L.,
Au Pairs,
Depeche Mode,
Junior Murvin,
Crooked Eye,
Brass Construction,
Pagans,
Y Pants,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Bush Tetras,
Frankie Knuckles,
John Holt,
Chris Corsano,
Suicide,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Andrew Hill,
Letta Mbulu,
Darondo,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Donny Hathaway,
Index,
Deadbeat,
The Grass Roots,
Stiv Bators,
Althea and Donna,
Urselle,
Alphaville,
Pole,
Anthony Braxton,
Tom Boy,
Deakin,
The Evens,
The Move,
Quantec,
Flamin' Groovies,
AZ,
Jeff Lynne,
Sex Pistols,
John Cale, John Cale, John Cale, John Cale.
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.