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 St Lucia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Blues Magoos to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Cymande. All the underground hits.
All Section 25 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every L. Decosne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Trojans,
the Bar-Kays,
Frankie Knuckles,
Suburban Knight,
Camouflage,
Dorothy Ashby,
Delta 5,
Eric Copeland,
Neu!,
The Martian,
Yazoo,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Lalann,
Joyce Sims,
Sex Pistols,
Public Image Ltd.,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Scan 7,
Duran Duran,
Henry Cow,
The Buckinghams,
ABC,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Faraquet,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Aaron Thompson,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Young Marble Giants,
Morten Harket,
The Durutti Column,
F. McDonald,
Icehouse,
Ronan,
Wire,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Divine Comedy,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Lyres,
Lou Christie,
Moby Grape,
Mantronix,
Johnny Clarke,
The Names,
Slave,
The Red Krayola,
Quantec,
Bill Wells,
MDC,
John Cale,
Ultravox,
Pantytec,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Agitation Free,
Nas,
Bobby Sherman,
Accadde A,
Ultra Naté,
Warsaw,
Rakim,
Sun City Girls,
Mo-Dettes,
K-Klass,
The Doobie Brothers,
Nik Kershaw, Nik Kershaw, Nik Kershaw, Nik Kershaw.
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.