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 Samoa and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the sitar 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 Sexual Harrassment to the punk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Intrusion. All the underground hits.
All The Moleskins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Star Department record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Raincoats,
The Five Americans,
Lalo Schifrin,
Marvin Gaye,
Arab on Radar,
Hashim,
Desert Stars,
F. McDonald,
Freddie Wadling,
Archie Shepp,
The Names,
Pulsallama,
Siglo XX,
The Mummies,
Erykah Badu,
Chris & Cosey,
Peter and Kerry,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Piero Umiliani,
the Fania All-Stars,
Scrapy,
Trumans Water,
Joyce Sims,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Throbbing Gristle,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Aswad,
Mark Hollis,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Flesh Eaters,
Organ,
the Germs,
The Saints,
John Lydon,
Monolake,
The Monochrome Set,
Ultravox,
Sexual Harrassment,
Eurythmics,
Sugar Minott,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Alphaville,
Black Pus,
Janne Schatter,
Con Funk Shun,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Trojans,
Fat Boys,
Harry Pussy,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Lou Reed,
Amazonics,
The Techniques,
Cal Tjader,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Amon Düül,
Pussy Galore,
The Dead C,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Funky Four + One,
Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red.
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.