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 Seychelles and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the guitar 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 Harry Pussy to the disco 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Camouflage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter & Gordon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lou Reed & John Cale record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
Freddie Wadling,
Ultimate Spinach,
Harry Pussy,
Cabaret Voltaire,
the Germs,
Funkadelic,
The Offenders,
Schoolly D,
Neu!,
The Moleskins,
Morten Harket,
James White and The Blacks,
Grey Daturas,
Black Sheep,
H. Thieme,
Scan 7,
The Cowsills,
Youth Brigade,
Deakin,
Masters at Work,
Peter and Kerry,
Suburban Knight,
Judy Mowatt,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Rites of Spring,
Black Flag,
The Gories,
Bobby Byrd,
MC5,
The Raincoats,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Vogues,
Lalann,
Grauzone,
The Fugs,
John Foxx,
Derrick Morgan,
The Leaves,
KRS-One,
Jeff Lynne,
Eddi Front,
The Evens,
Drive Like Jehu,
Adolescents,
The Slackers,
The Fuzztones,
the Bar-Kays,
Mr. Review,
Marcia Griffiths,
Ten City,
Barry Ungar,
ABC,
New Age Steppers,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Moody Blues,
The Mojo Men,
Reagan Youth,
Tommy Roe,
Alphaville,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.