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 Guyana and from Manchester.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 harpsichord 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 James White and The Blacks to the disco 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 ABBA. All the underground hits.
All Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Idris Muhammad record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gladiators 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?
Suicide,
Blancmange,
Steve Hackett,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Arthur Verocai,
Traffic Nightmare,
Fluxion,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Walker Brothers,
The Seeds,
Minnie Riperton,
Bad Manners,
Kevin Saunderson,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Avey Tare,
The Human League,
Japan,
Mo-Dettes,
Blake Baxter,
Altered Images,
Rekid,
Alice Coltrane,
Pole,
DJ Sneak,
the Human League,
Henry Cow,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Ken Boothe,
Porter Ricks,
The Red Krayola,
Judy Mowatt,
Curtis Mayfield,
China Crisis,
Gregory Isaacs,
Lightning Bolt,
Parry Music,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Moody Blues,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Jesper Dahlback,
Rufus Thomas,
Gang Gang Dance,
the Soft Cell,
Robert Görl,
Andrew Hill,
Charles Mingus,
Frankie Knuckles,
Oneida,
Chris Corsano,
Grauzone,
Cluster,
Magma,
Goldenarms,
The Remains,
Kool Moe Dee,
Pagans,
New York Dolls,
Ituana,
The Toasters,
Yazoo,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.