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 Guinea and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 DeepChord presents Echospace to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Y Pants. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultravox record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a mellotron and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Flash Fearless record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The New Christs,
ABC,
Inner City,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Trojans,
Quando Quango,
DJ Sneak,
Pantytec,
Soft Machine,
The Grass Roots,
The Fortunes,
Visage,
Peter and Kerry,
Scrapy,
Stetsasonic,
Eric Copeland,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
John Lydon,
Crispian St. Peters,
Simply Red,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Joey Negro,
The Real Kids,
Lou Reed,
The Vogues,
Arthur Verocai,
Lightning Bolt,
Black Sheep,
John Coltrane,
Zero Boys,
Donald Byrd,
Flipper,
Wolf Eyes,
Magma,
Erasure,
The Young Rascals,
Nirvana,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
AZ,
Mars,
Ituana,
Deepchord,
Black Bananas,
Toni Rubio,
Subhumans,
Excepter,
Nils Olav,
MC5,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Joyce Sims,
Section 25,
Gabor Szabo,
Silicon Teens,
The Buckinghams,
Rufus Thomas,
Warsaw,
The Beau Brummels,
John Cale,
Mary Jane Girls,
Terry Callier,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Ossler, Ossler, Ossler, Ossler.
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.