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 Cambodia and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Standells to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Nik Kershaw. All the underground hits.
All Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aural Exciters 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kenny Larkin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
the Normal,
Brothers Johnson,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Joy Division,
Index,
Traffic Nightmare,
Danielle Patucci,
Robert Hood,
Harry Pussy,
DJ Sneak,
Mars,
The Victims,
Ohio Players,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Five Americans,
Michelle Simonal,
Jacob Miller,
Thee Headcoats,
Cybotron,
Boogie Down Productions,
The New Christs,
Ken Boothe,
Todd Rundgren,
Oneida,
Connie Case,
Blossom Toes,
Boredoms,
The Kinks,
Make Up,
Sexual Harrassment,
New Age Steppers,
Sight & Sound,
The Tremeloes,
Fad Gadget,
Barbara Tucker,
Soft Cell,
Bad Manners,
The Beau Brummels,
Roxy Music,
Minutemen,
Fugazi,
World's Most,
F. McDonald,
Pharoah Sanders,
the Bar-Kays,
Intrusion,
Arthur Verocai,
Technova,
Cymande,
Byron Stingily,
Bluetip,
These Immortal Souls,
Rekid,
Johnny Clarke,
The Grass Roots,
The Sound,
The Alarm Clocks,
Panda Bear,
Bobby Byrd,
Agent Orange,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Matthew Halsall,
Gang of Four, Gang of Four, Gang of Four, Gang of Four.
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.