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 Australia and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 clarinet 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 The Shadows of Knight to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sex Pistols record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Hoover,
Camberwell Now,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Star Department,
Tom Boy,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Scrapy,
Nico,
Talk Talk,
Faraquet,
Radio Birdman,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Model 500,
Mo-Dettes,
Reagan Youth,
Warsaw,
Jacques Brel,
Althea and Donna,
T.S.O.L.,
Anakelly,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Skarface,
The Cramps,
Flash Fearless,
The Litter,
The Index,
Mission of Burma,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Radiopuhelimet,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Cluster,
The J.B.'s,
Marc Almond,
The Pretty Things,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Wake,
Jawbox,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Gong,
The Beau Brummels,
Blossom Toes,
The Young Rascals,
Barbara Tucker,
Lee Hazlewood,
Jacob Miller,
Royal Trux,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
AZ,
The Invisible,
The Velvet Underground,
Nils Olav,
Eurythmics,
Bootsy Collins,
Khruangbin,
Lou Reed,
One Last Wish,
Jerry's Kids,
Dave Gahan,
Aswad,
Black Sheep,
The Smiths,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.