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 Antigua and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 X-101. All the underground hits.
All Quando Quango tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bronski Beat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Soft Cell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
KRS-One,
DJ Sneak,
The Velvet Underground,
Aswad,
Con Funk Shun,
Althea and Donna,
Wasted Youth,
Sexual Harrassment,
Danielle Patucci,
Nas,
Dawn Penn,
Bootsy Collins,
Bauhaus,
Adolescents,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Slave,
Joey Negro,
Oneida,
Ituana,
Joe Smooth,
Niagra,
Funkadelic,
Second Layer,
La Düsseldorf,
Robert Wyatt,
Rufus Thomas,
Fat Boys,
Sun Ra,
Mark Hollis,
DJ Style,
Maleditus Sound,
Model 500,
Circle Jerks,
Khruangbin,
Thee Headcoats,
Excepter,
Visage,
Glenn Branca,
World's Most,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
B.T. Express,
the Bar-Kays,
MC5,
the Association,
Mars,
John Cale,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Loose Ends,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Victims,
the Human League,
Eve St. Jones,
Icehouse,
Marc Almond,
China Crisis,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Cameo,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Birthday Party,
cv313,
Depeche Mode,
Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle.
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.