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 Azerbaijan and from Beijing.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Desert Stars to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Justin Hinds & The Dominoes. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Silicon Teens record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 sitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radio Birdman,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Quando Quango,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Rod Modell,
Clear Light,
T. Rex,
Anakelly,
Marshall Jefferson,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Radiohead,
Agent Orange,
The Fall,
Gil Scott Heron,
Thompson Twins,
Wally Richardson,
Bootsy Collins,
Robert Görl,
Minutemen,
Nik Kershaw,
The Martian,
Sound Behaviour,
Brass Construction,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Radiopuhelimet,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Suicide,
Brick,
Sugar Minott,
The Gladiators,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Mojo Men,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Pylon,
Throbbing Gristle,
Television,
Shuggie Otis,
Cal Tjader,
Royal Trux,
Skaos,
Avey Tare,
Arthur Verocai,
Eve St. Jones,
Funkadelic,
Yazoo,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Aaron Thompson,
Bobby Byrd,
Soft Cell,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Crispy Ambulance,
Slave,
Crime,
The Blackbyrds,
Symarip,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Altered Images,
Agitation Free,
The Index,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Y Pants,
Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey.
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.