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 Bahamas and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 theremin 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 Porter Ricks to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Simply Red tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lalo Schifrin 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moss Icon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Boz Scaggs,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kenny Larkin,
Angry Samoans,
Black Flag,
Underground Resistance,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Crispian St. Peters,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Stockholm Monsters,
Radiopuhelimet,
Goldenarms,
The Red Krayola,
CMW,
The Smiths,
The Monochrome Set,
Suburban Knight,
The Trojans,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Bad Manners,
The Index,
Malaria!,
Sparks,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Pere Ubu,
The Count Five,
John Cale,
Masters at Work,
The American Breed,
Pole,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
A Certain Ratio,
Basic Channel,
Warsaw,
Al Stewart,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Archie Shepp,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
ABBA,
Spandau Ballet,
Monolake,
Index,
The Raincoats,
Chris Corsano,
Kayak,
Das Ding,
Saccharine Trust,
Sarah Menescal,
Marcia Griffiths,
Siglo XX,
Supertramp,
Aswad,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Davy DMX,
James White and The Blacks,
The Black Dice,
China Crisis,
the Human League,
Country Teasers,
The Durutti Column,
In Retrospect,
Peter & Gordon,
Anakelly, Anakelly, Anakelly, Anakelly.
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.