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 Tonga and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Donald Byrd to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Kaleidoscope. All the underground hits.
All The Skatalites tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Beau Brummels record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Saccharine Trust,
Lyres,
Boogie Down Productions,
Agent Orange,
Byron Stingily,
Panda Bear,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Kinks,
The Modern Lovers,
ABC,
Wings,
Soul Sonic Force,
Black Sheep,
Bootsy Collins,
the Slits,
Malaria!,
Dave Gahan,
The Sound,
Pharoah Sanders,
Outsiders,
Mandrill,
Oblivians,
Bill Near,
Terrestrial Tones,
Easy Going,
Kevin Saunderson,
China Crisis,
Ponytail,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Fear,
Scratch Acid,
Suburban Knight,
Con Funk Shun,
H. Thieme,
Junior Murvin,
Echospace,
Radiohead,
Joyce Sims,
The Fuzztones,
Mark Hollis,
the Human League,
Don Cherry,
Grey Daturas,
The Pretty Things,
The Cowsills,
Thompson Twins,
Morten Harket,
Fluxion,
Negative Approach,
Kerri Chandler,
Nation of Ulysses,
Black Moon,
Yazoo,
Angry Samoans,
Qualms,
Stereo Dub,
Electric Prunes,
Boredoms,
Man Eating Sloth,
Hoover,
The Trojans,
Parry Music,
Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters.
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.