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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Milan.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Gladiators to the electroclash 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 Major Organ And The Adding Machine. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Seeds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Main Source,
the Germs,
Derrick May,
Nik Kershaw,
K-Klass,
the Slits,
Minnie Riperton,
The Red Krayola,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Black Dice,
Brick,
Stiv Bators,
Silicon Teens,
Joe Finger,
Bad Manners,
CMW,
Reagan Youth,
Girls At Our Best!,
PIL,
Grauzone,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sex Pistols,
Youth Brigade,
Barrington Levy,
Mission of Burma,
the Bar-Kays,
Matthew Halsall,
Monks,
Country Teasers,
Eric Copeland,
Hot Snakes,
Cymande,
Sixth Finger,
The Fire Engines,
Pagans,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Faust,
Pere Ubu,
Minor Threat,
Iggy Pop,
The Residents,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Last Poets,
Yaz,
The Searchers,
John Holt,
Ten City,
Alphaville,
Lakeside,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bauhaus,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Warren Ellis,
Harry Pussy,
Outsiders,
Eurythmics,
Derrick Morgan,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Barracudas, The Barracudas, The Barracudas, The Barracudas.
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.