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 Benin and from Tokyo.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 A Certain Ratio to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Terror Squad Feat. Camron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gladiators 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Slick Rick,
Pole,
Blancmange,
Crime,
Siglo XX,
Tom Boy,
The Buckinghams,
CMW,
Nick Fraelich,
Ronan,
MDC,
Icehouse,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Slits,
Interpol,
Lyres,
Jacques Brel,
The Young Rascals,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ultra Naté,
Lakeside,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Aloha Tigers,
Desert Stars,
Alton Ellis,
Marvin Gaye,
Tim Buckley,
Bad Manners,
Camouflage,
The New Christs,
Grey Daturas,
Tubeway Army,
Technova,
Blossom Toes,
UT,
Idris Muhammad,
Junior Murvin,
Shoche,
L. Decosne,
Sam Rivers,
Sällskapet,
Glambeats Corp.,
The American Breed,
Terry Callier,
Newcleus,
Warren Ellis,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Erasure,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Severed Heads,
Moebius,
Marshall Jefferson,
Magazine,
Barclay James Harvest,
Qualms,
Supertramp,
Wasted Youth,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
New Age Steppers, New Age Steppers, New Age Steppers, New Age Steppers.
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.