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 Equatorial Guinea and from Winnipeg.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Wasted Youth to the punk 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 Fort Wilson Riot. All the underground hits.
All Spoonie Gee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bizarre Inc. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator 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 Residents,
The Fuzztones,
Buzzcocks,
Desert Stars,
Soul Sonic Force,
the Bar-Kays,
Godley & Creme,
Vladislav Delay,
Fat Boys,
Minny Pops,
Stockholm Monsters,
Nation of Ulysses,
Masters at Work,
Magma,
The Leaves,
Blossom Toes,
Connie Case,
Jawbox,
A Certain Ratio,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Black Bananas,
Slave,
DJ Sneak,
The Blues Magoos,
The Beau Brummels,
John Coltrane,
The Toasters,
Bronski Beat,
Pharoah Sanders,
Aswad,
Isaac Hayes,
Los Fastidios,
Jerry's Kids,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Scientists,
the Association,
Deadbeat,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Barbara Tucker,
The Index,
Ornette Coleman,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Gang Green,
Erykah Badu,
Terry Callier,
Nik Kershaw,
Lou Reed,
Barrington Levy,
The United States of America,
Gabor Szabo,
Mark Hollis,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Count Five,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Toni Rubio,
Deepchord,
T. Rex,
Essential Logic,
The Skatalites,
The Martian,
ABC,
Cheater Slicks,
Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion.
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.