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 Syria and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Bronski Beat to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Association. All the underground hits.
All Deadbeat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Trumans Water record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brand Nubian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
These Immortal Souls,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Sex Pistols,
Jimmy McGriff,
Ossler,
Angry Samoans,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Crispy Ambulance,
Audionom,
Ken Boothe,
Bobby Byrd,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Black Bananas,
Tom Boy,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Wake,
Ponytail,
Harpers Bizarre,
Joyce Sims,
Spoonie Gee,
The Fire Engines,
Wire,
Arab on Radar,
Jesper Dahlback,
Flipper,
Deadbeat,
The Fugs,
Porter Ricks,
Aaron Thompson,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Leaves,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
F. McDonald,
Rites of Spring,
Eurythmics,
the Germs,
Saccharine Trust,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Joey Negro,
The Martian,
Juan Atkins,
T.S.O.L.,
The Last Poets,
Bill Wells,
Jacques Brel,
Sight & Sound,
Urselle,
David Axelrod,
Maurizio,
Glenn Branca,
Kevin Saunderson,
Chris Corsano,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Stetsasonic,
Steve Hackett,
The Remains,
The Durutti Column,
Rufus Thomas,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Infiniti,
Althea and Donna,
X-102,
Susan Cadogan, Susan Cadogan, Susan Cadogan, Susan Cadogan.
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.