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 Australia and from Tokyo.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Glasgow.
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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Brass Construction to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Dirtbombs. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every JFA 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 an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The New Christs,
The Golliwogs,
Scion,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Lungfish,
The Young Rascals,
Ice-T,
Pylon,
Gang of Four,
Mr. Review,
Terry Callier,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Tears for Fears,
The Fortunes,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Tremeloes,
X-102,
Lebanon Hanover,
Carl Craig,
Anakelly,
Q and Not U,
Public Enemy,
The Cramps,
A Certain Ratio,
Mo-Dettes,
Arthur Verocai,
Pantaleimon,
Traffic Nightmare,
Bluetip,
The Index,
Jeff Mills,
OOIOO,
Ossler,
Bobby Sherman,
the Bar-Kays,
Liliput,
Glenn Branca,
Bauhaus,
Scan 7,
China Crisis,
the Association,
Neil Young,
Rotary Connection,
Alice Coltrane,
The Move,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Agent Orange,
Barclay James Harvest,
Essential Logic,
The Moody Blues,
the Fania All-Stars,
June Days,
DJ Style,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Zeros,
Drive Like Jehu,
Minnie Riperton,
the Swans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Fatback Band,
Suburban Knight,
Rapeman,
Soulsonic Force,
MC5, MC5, MC5, MC5.
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.