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 Kuwait and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the rhodes 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 The Real Kids to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joe Smooth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 an organ and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Skriet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ken Boothe,
Wally Richardson,
Lou Reed,
Ultravox,
Joey Negro,
Vladislav Delay,
Malaria!,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
A Certain Ratio,
Excepter,
Pharoah Sanders,
Donald Byrd,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Delon & Dalcan,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Adolescents,
Eve St. Jones,
Gang Starr,
Davy DMX,
Curtis Mayfield,
the Association,
Amazonics,
Beasts of Bourbon,
David Bowie,
Nick Fraelich,
Angry Samoans,
Can,
The Shadows of Knight,
Marvin Gaye,
Outsiders,
Harpers Bizarre,
Banda Bassotti,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Mission of Burma,
U.S. Maple,
Morten Harket,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
the Soft Cell,
Hoover,
Severed Heads,
Monks,
The Victims,
John Foxx,
Blancmange,
Goldenarms,
ABC,
Stetsasonic,
Brand Nubian,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rosa Yemen,
Eric Dolphy,
Bang On A Can,
The Detroit Cobras,
The American Breed,
Don Cherry,
X-Ray Spex,
Babytalk,
Eli Mardock,
John Coltrane,
The Doors,
the Normal,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Heaven 17, Heaven 17, Heaven 17, Heaven 17.
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.