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 Iran and from Woodstock.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 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 Mr. Review to the rap 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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All Masters at Work tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Erasure 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a China Crisis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moss Icon,
Surgeon,
Malaria!,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Kaleidoscope,
Letta Mbulu,
Reagan Youth,
New York Dolls,
Harry Pussy,
Black Flag,
Swell Maps,
The Shadows of Knight,
Can,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sugar Minott,
Soft Cell,
The Knickerbockers,
The Fortunes,
Barbara Tucker,
James White and The Blacks,
Ultra Naté,
Sarah Menescal,
Nico,
Sexual Harrassment,
Kenny Larkin,
The Cowsills,
Slick Rick,
Isaac Hayes,
Newcleus,
Cluster,
The Gladiators,
D'Angelo,
Popol Vuh,
the Germs,
Animal Collective,
Moebius,
Pet Shop Boys,
Siglo XX,
Funkadelic,
The American Breed,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Doobie Brothers,
Crispy Ambulance,
Soulsonic Force,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Tom Boy,
The Slits,
Curtis Mayfield,
Grauzone,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
8 Eyed Spy,
Sound Behaviour,
Soul II Soul,
Flamin' Groovies,
Junior Murvin,
Alphaville,
Harmonia,
Dorothy Ashby,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Saints,
Black Moon,
Ken Boothe,
X-101, X-101, X-101, X-101.
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.