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 Ireland and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Toronto.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Connie Case to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bang on a Can All-Stars. All the underground hits.
All Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pierre Henry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minutemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tomorrow,
Mandrill,
The Offenders,
cv313,
Ultra Naté,
The Pop Group,
Iggy Pop,
The Buckinghams,
Los Fastidios,
Anakelly,
Grey Daturas,
the Soft Cell,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tropical Tobacco,
Zero Boys,
Marc Almond,
These Immortal Souls,
Joey Negro,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The J.B.'s,
The Sisters of Mercy,
David Bowie,
Jeff Mills,
Jerry's Kids,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Lucky Dragons,
Reagan Youth,
The Doors,
The Busters,
Amon Düül II,
Wasted Youth,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Pet Shop Boys,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Glambeats Corp.,
X-Ray Spex,
Sparks,
Goldenarms,
Marvin Gaye,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Nils Olav,
Newcleus,
Shoche,
H. Thieme,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Bush Tetras,
New Age Steppers,
The Mojo Men,
The Neon Judgement,
The Black Dice,
Schoolly D,
Con Funk Shun,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Bill Wells,
Dark Day,
Agent Orange,
Terry Callier,
Banda Bassotti,
Todd Rundgren,
Tears for Fears,
Rekid, Rekid, Rekid, Rekid.
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.