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 Uzbekistan and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Iggy Pop to the dance 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 Liliput. All the underground hits.
All Mr. Review tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 clarinet and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a A Flock of Seagulls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mojo Men,
Magma,
Subhumans,
Prince Buster,
John Holt,
Johnny Clarke,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Beau Brummels,
Robert Hood,
Howard Jones,
Girls At Our Best!,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ralphi Rosario,
Scion,
Sandy B,
Hoover,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bush Tetras,
Ronan,
Lindisfarne,
Black Sheep,
Excepter,
Black Flag,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Kool Moe Dee,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Henry Cow,
Gregory Isaacs,
Whodini,
Massinfluence,
The Slits,
Roger Hodgson,
Rod Modell,
Scrapy,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Masters at Work,
The Birthday Party,
Youth Brigade,
Banda Bassotti,
Country Teasers,
Ten City,
the Bar-Kays,
Parry Music,
Warsaw,
Arcadia,
The Gladiators,
The Doobie Brothers,
Flash Fearless,
Icehouse,
Tubeway Army,
In Retrospect,
Sister Nancy,
Ludus,
The New Christs,
Second Layer,
La Düsseldorf,
Hardrive,
The Sound,
Boogie Down Productions,
Jeru the Damaja,
Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat.
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.