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 Marshall Islands and from Madrid.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 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 Radio Birdman to the grunge 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 Siglo XX. All the underground hits.
All the Association tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minutemen 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
Pussy Galore,
Porter Ricks,
Rhythm & Sound,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Kerri Chandler,
Fat Boys,
Dark Day,
Quando Quango,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Cal Tjader,
The Doors,
The Misunderstood,
Flash Fearless,
The Residents,
Fatback Band,
The Saints,
Kaleidoscope,
DJ Style,
The Litter,
Con Funk Shun,
Warren Ellis,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Vladislav Delay,
Johnny Osbourne,
Deepchord,
Charles Mingus,
Marcia Griffiths,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The New Christs,
The Searchers,
Bobby Byrd,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Durutti Column,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Piero Umiliani,
Visage,
Lungfish,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Busters,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Camberwell Now,
Theoretical Girls,
The Toasters,
The Velvet Underground,
Flamin' Groovies,
Guru Guru,
Babytalk,
Goldenarms,
Clear Light,
Rapeman,
Big Daddy Kane,
Mr. Review,
Jeff Mills,
Alice Coltrane,
Banda Bassotti,
the Soft Cell,
The Shadows of Knight,
Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys.
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.