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 Nauru and from Cairo.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Johannesburg.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Donald Byrd to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Barbara Tucker. All the underground hits.
All The Flesh Eaters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moebius record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jerry Gold Smith record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
CMW,
48th St. Collective,
Aloha Tigers,
The Slits,
Negative Approach,
Heaven 17,
Peter and Kerry,
OOIOO,
Faust,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Althea and Donna,
Neil Young,
Magma,
Accadde A,
The Misunderstood,
Pole,
Frankie Knuckles,
Neu!,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Inner City,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Fall,
Minor Threat,
Los Fastidios,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Danielle Patucci,
Bobby Sherman,
Cal Tjader,
Soft Cell,
The J.B.'s,
Ronan,
The Fortunes,
The Leaves,
Avey Tare,
Visage,
Liliput,
The Invisible,
The Detroit Cobras,
Flash Fearless,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Velvet Underground,
Delon & Dalcan,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Electric Prunes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
F. McDonald,
Pere Ubu,
MC5,
Suicide,
the Bar-Kays,
Traffic Nightmare,
Lee Hazlewood,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Television,
Maleditus Sound,
Chris Corsano,
Jerry's Kids,
Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode.
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.