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 Pakistan and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 organ 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 Hutcherson to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Lightning Bolt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cramps 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro 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 güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Silicon Teens,
Mantronix,
Q and Not U,
The Index,
Fela Kuti,
Lindisfarne,
Rufus Thomas,
Duran Duran,
Ten City,
Symarip,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Das Ding,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Fall,
Scrapy,
Brass Construction,
Pole,
Erykah Badu,
Absolute Body Control,
Tears for Fears,
Thee Headcoats,
Lou Reed,
Marine Girls,
Prince Buster,
Aural Exciters,
Albert Ayler,
Davy DMX,
Amon Düül,
D'Angelo,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Standells,
John Lydon,
The Monks,
Eve St. Jones,
X-102,
New Order,
Severed Heads,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Ituana,
Eddi Front,
The Sonics,
Mission of Burma,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Black Pus,
Von Mondo,
Jerry's Kids,
The Electric Prunes,
Con Funk Shun,
Vainqueur,
Sarah Menescal,
Gichy Dan,
Leonard Cohen,
Cluster,
Yellowson,
T.S.O.L.,
Livin' Joy,
Roy Ayers,
Desert Stars,
Y Pants,
Pagans,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.