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 Korea South and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Bobby Womack to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Adolescents. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gerry Rafferty record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a linndrum and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a PIL record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Names,
Radiopuhelimet,
World's Most,
Pere Ubu,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Mummies,
Lucky Dragons,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Yaz,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Grauzone,
Matthew Halsall,
Black Bananas,
Soul II Soul,
Faust,
the Slits,
Kas Product,
The Standells,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Franke,
Mad Mike,
Wire,
Alphaville,
KRS-One,
Sly & The Family Stone,
John Cale,
The Moody Blues,
The Real Kids,
Soft Machine,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Saccharine Trust,
Interpol,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Aswad,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Pretty Things,
Tropical Tobacco,
K-Klass,
Mr. Review,
T. Rex,
The Angels of Light,
Kurtis Blow,
Chrome,
Zapp,
The Associates,
Sexual Harrassment,
JFA,
PIL,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Babytalk,
The J.B.'s,
Charles Mingus,
Outsiders,
Neil Young,
Marine Girls,
Radiohead,
Erykah Badu,
Crime,
Sarah Menescal,
Inner City,
Moby Grape,
Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May.
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.