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 Burkina and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 808 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Tommy Roe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nils Olav record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bronski Beat record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sly & The Family Stone,
Q65,
Talk Talk,
EPMD,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Surgeon,
Clear Light,
The Moleskins,
The Doors,
Peter and Kerry,
Khruangbin,
KRS-One,
Can,
Make Up,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Victims,
Wings,
The Associates,
The Beau Brummels,
Cecil Taylor,
Albert Ayler,
Swell Maps,
L. Decosne,
Ronnie Foster,
Bob Dylan,
Rites of Spring,
Kurtis Blow,
The Neon Judgement,
Wolf Eyes,
Lebanon Hanover,
Metal Thangz,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Pantytec,
Negative Approach,
PIL,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Popol Vuh,
The Remains,
Electric Light Orchestra,
June of 44,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Davy DMX,
Throbbing Gristle,
Rosa Yemen,
Donny Hathaway,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Freddie Wadling,
Unwound,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Avey Tare,
Darondo,
Charles Mingus,
Tubeway Army,
Marvin Gaye,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Cramps,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Carl Craig,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Dead C,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd.
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.