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 Senegal and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Cameo to the funk 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 Drive Like Jehu. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Michelle Simonal record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sisters of Mercy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
The Busters,
Dual Sessions,
Aloha Tigers,
48th St. Collective,
John Cale,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Detroit Cobras,
Scratch Acid,
Boredoms,
Marine Girls,
Cymande,
Desert Stars,
The Walker Brothers,
Quantec,
Bush Tetras,
Radiopuhelimet,
Aswad,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Duran Duran,
Accadde A,
Harry Pussy,
ABC,
Ponytail,
Funky Four + One,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Q and Not U,
Mission of Burma,
Ludus,
Unwound,
The Knickerbockers,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Pagans,
Blancmange,
Symarip,
Subhumans,
Ralphi Rosario,
Sarah Menescal,
Altered Images,
Lower 48,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Metal Thangz,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Aaron Thompson,
Bootsy Collins,
a-ha,
The Real Kids,
Malaria!,
The Slits,
The Alarm Clocks,
Blossom Toes,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
EPMD,
Grey Daturas,
Ornette Coleman,
Public Image Ltd.,
Howard Jones,
Joey Negro,
10cc,
Jacques Brel,
Fad Gadget,
Outsiders,
Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith.
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.