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 Malta and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Radiohead to the rap 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 Kerrie Biddell. All the underground hits.
All Carl Craig tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Tremeloes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Danielle Patucci 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?
Suicide,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Brass Construction,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Franke,
Matthew Bourne,
Hot Snakes,
Buzzcocks,
Spoonie Gee,
A Certain Ratio,
Adolescents,
Blancmange,
The Gladiators,
Idris Muhammad,
Cameo,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Qualms,
Goldenarms,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
K-Klass,
T. Rex,
Newcleus,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Bobby Sherman,
Excepter,
Ultimate Spinach,
Wally Richardson,
The Searchers,
The Last Poets,
Aloha Tigers,
The Barracudas,
Minnie Riperton,
Bad Manners,
Make Up,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Smoke,
The Busters,
Traffic Nightmare,
London Community Gospel Choir,
ABC,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Joe Smooth,
Smog,
The Doors,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Gabor Szabo,
Black Flag,
Joensuu 1685,
Bob Dylan,
Sex Pistols,
Youth Brigade,
Massinfluence,
Mr. Review,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Stockholm Monsters,
EPMD,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Barrington Levy,
The Invisible,
Schoolly D,
Zapp, Zapp, Zapp, Zapp.
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.