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 Kyrgyzstan and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Faraquet to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Faraquet. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slave record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
These Immortal Souls,
Grey Daturas,
Oblivians,
Godley & Creme,
Monolake,
Talk Talk,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
OOIOO,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Glambeats Corp.,
Skriet,
Buzzcocks,
The Durutti Column,
Angry Samoans,
Robert Görl,
Sonny Sharrock,
Organ,
The Cramps,
DJ Sneak,
Television,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Country Teasers,
Young Marble Giants,
Rapeman,
Bootsy Collins,
Aaron Thompson,
Make Up,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Gang Starr,
Jerry's Kids,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Electric Prunes,
Inner City,
Eden Ahbez,
Harpers Bizarre,
Rakim,
Icehouse,
Boogie Down Productions,
Fat Boys,
Letta Mbulu,
the Slits,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
New York Dolls,
Circle Jerks,
Ponytail,
X-102,
KRS-One,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Martian,
Todd Rundgren,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Blues Magoos,
Stetsasonic,
a-ha,
Intrusion,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Parry Music,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
D'Angelo,
Magazine,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.