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 Niger and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Philadelphia.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Victims to the rock kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All Sex Pistols tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every World's Most 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dawn Penn record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lightning Bolt,
Erykah Badu,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Doobie Brothers,
Model 500,
Sandy B,
Rhythm & Sound,
Ronan,
Donald Byrd,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Lou Christie,
Janne Schatter,
Tommy Roe,
Quando Quango,
The Fortunes,
Lou Reed,
The Busters,
Jeff Mills,
Basic Channel,
T. Rex,
The Flesh Eaters,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Accadde A,
Lakeside,
Crispian St. Peters,
Cluster,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Kerri Chandler,
The Cowsills,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Martian,
Q65,
FM Einheit,
Arab on Radar,
H. Thieme,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Maurizio,
Swans,
Piero Umiliani,
Jacob Miller,
Robert Hood,
Nick Fraelich,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Magazine,
Davy DMX,
Jacques Brel,
Lalo Schifrin,
Ultravox,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Eric Copeland,
Flipper,
Kool Moe Dee,
Slick Rick,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Pharoah Sanders,
Easy Going,
Rufus Thomas,
Susan Cadogan,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
T.S.O.L.,
Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke.
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.