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 Switzerland and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and New York.
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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Black Sheep to the techno 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 The Last Poets. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Essential Logic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Toasters,
Crooked Eye,
Duran Duran,
Mr. Review,
Youth Brigade,
The Last Poets,
Qualms,
Eurythmics,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Trumans Water,
Chris & Cosey,
Tommy Roe,
Gang Green,
Glenn Branca,
Mars,
Rapeman,
The Doobie Brothers,
Erykah Badu,
Cecil Taylor,
The Residents,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Wake,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Ultravox,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Stooges,
Desert Stars,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Index,
ABC,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Animal Collective,
Deepchord,
Dorothy Ashby,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Quando Quango,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Johnny Clarke,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Cramps,
Bill Near,
Girls At Our Best!,
Traffic Nightmare,
Tom Boy,
One Last Wish,
John Holt,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The American Breed,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Mantronix,
Barry Ungar,
Alphaville,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Hasil Adkins,
Gang of Four,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Kayak,
Sandy B,
Ohio Players,
Yusef Lateef,
Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work.
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.