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 Jamaica and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 clarinet 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 Wolf Eyes to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All 8 Eyed Spy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alice Coltrane record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brick,
The Gories,
The Doobie Brothers,
Alice Coltrane,
Hasil Adkins,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rufus Thomas,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Bauhaus,
Severed Heads,
Peter and Kerry,
Moss Icon,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Outsiders,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Malaria!,
Throbbing Gristle,
Iggy Pop,
Sällskapet,
Aaron Thompson,
the Slits,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Average White Band,
Barry Ungar,
The Slackers,
The Leaves,
Wings,
Masters at Work,
Fad Gadget,
Sexual Harrassment,
John Foxx,
Yellowson,
June of 44,
Barrington Levy,
X-Ray Spex,
Fela Kuti,
the Normal,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Divine Comedy,
H. Thieme,
The Angels of Light,
The Seeds,
Monolake,
Lungfish,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Ituana,
Half Japanese,
Q65,
Bush Tetras,
The Alarm Clocks,
T. Rex,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ponytail,
Black Pus,
Danielle Patucci,
Fear,
Ultra Naté,
The Standells,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Barclay James Harvest,
Lalann, Lalann, Lalann, Lalann.
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.