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 Dominican Republic and from Philadelphia.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 oboe 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 Moby Grape to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Trumans Water. All the underground hits.
All Oblivians tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Victims record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Charles Mingus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fatback Band,
The Trojans,
8 Eyed Spy,
Nick Fraelich,
The Standells,
The Flesh Eaters,
Tommy Roe,
Bauhaus,
Metal Thangz,
Terrestrial Tones,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Mr. Review,
The Gories,
the Swans,
Bobby Womack,
Howard Jones,
The Busters,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Marine Girls,
Kenny Larkin,
Man Parrish,
Excepter,
Sex Pistols,
Pylon,
Man Eating Sloth,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Sight & Sound,
Amon Düül II,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Jerry's Kids,
Scan 7,
Harmonia,
Cheater Slicks,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Gladiators,
Intrusion,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Litter,
Hot Snakes,
a-ha,
Robert Wyatt,
Joensuu 1685,
Mark Hollis,
Average White Band,
Circle Jerks,
Sam Rivers,
The Five Americans,
Fear,
Brick,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Kevin Saunderson,
Aaron Thompson,
The Monochrome Set,
Hasil Adkins,
Pagans,
F. McDonald,
Robert Görl,
Interpol, Interpol, Interpol, Interpol.
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.