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 Cuba and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx 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 Juan Atkins. All the underground hits.
All Unrelated Segments tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alton Ellis 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a linndrum 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 clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chris & Cosey,
Bobby Byrd,
Monks,
Index,
Peter and Kerry,
The Star Department,
Grandmaster Flash,
Swell Maps,
The Shadows of Knight,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Last Poets,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Boz Scaggs,
Oblivians,
Ronnie Foster,
Technova,
Bill Wells,
Rhythm & Sound,
This Heat,
Suicide,
Eric Copeland,
The Raincoats,
Franke,
Gong,
Tomorrow,
Joensuu 1685,
Howard Jones,
The Beau Brummels,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Invisible,
The Blues Magoos,
Mantronix,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Jacques Brel,
Roy Ayers,
Cluster,
The Five Americans,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Cheater Slicks,
Scratch Acid,
Severed Heads,
Circle Jerks,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Warren Ellis,
Lucky Dragons,
Mars,
Yellowson,
MDC,
The Grass Roots,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Yusef Lateef,
Crispian St. Peters,
David McCallum,
Mo-Dettes,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Wasted Youth,
The Standells,
The Black Dice,
Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus.
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.