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 Honduras and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 chamberlin 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 Sun City Girls to the disco 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 Spoonie Gee. All the underground hits.
All The Dead C tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moby Grape 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Skaos,
Joe Smooth,
The Fugs,
Isaac Hayes,
Roger Hodgson,
the Germs,
Sam Rivers,
The Music Machine,
Stetsasonic,
The Standells,
A Flock of Seagulls,
B.T. Express,
Yaz,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Rod Modell,
Ludus,
Black Pus,
The Sonics,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Dave Gahan,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Porter Ricks,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Sandy B,
Radiohead,
The Misunderstood,
Guru Guru,
Lebanon Hanover,
the Bar-Kays,
David Axelrod,
Outsiders,
Erasure,
The Gap Band,
Theoretical Girls,
Radio Birdman,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Arthur Verocai,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Gladiators,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Simply Red,
Unrelated Segments,
Lucky Dragons,
Nas,
Aloha Tigers,
Bob Dylan,
The Birthday Party,
Matthew Halsall,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Average White Band,
Sex Pistols,
Talk Talk,
Bush Tetras,
Minutemen,
The Move,
Arab on Radar,
Girls At Our Best!,
Gregory Isaacs,
Smog,
The Leaves,
Peter and Kerry,
The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges.
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.