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 Guatemala and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Nik Kershaw to the jazz 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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Osbourne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angels of Light & Akron/Family record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spandau Ballet,
Intrusion,
Suicide,
Wasted Youth,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Icehouse,
Freddie Wadling,
Skaos,
Talk Talk,
Aaron Thompson,
The Last Poets,
Wolf Eyes,
the Human League,
Cal Tjader,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Masters at Work,
Popol Vuh,
Blossom Toes,
Surgeon,
Godley & Creme,
Eurythmics,
JFA,
The Golliwogs,
Gong,
Bad Manners,
Bill Near,
Magazine,
Tommy Roe,
Bobby Byrd,
Quando Quango,
The Blues Magoos,
Quadrant,
Albert Ayler,
Mars,
Gang Green,
Royal Trux,
Iggy Pop,
Organ,
Sällskapet,
Grauzone,
The Index,
Jacques Brel,
Make Up,
Bush Tetras,
Sun City Girls,
Jeru the Damaja,
Joe Finger,
KRS-One,
Juan Atkins,
Unwound,
Loose Ends,
Sonny Sharrock,
Clear Light,
Camouflage,
Graham Central Station,
Main Source,
Sugar Minott,
Groovy Waters,
H. Thieme,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Steve Hackett,
Tom Boy, Tom Boy, Tom Boy, Tom Boy.
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.