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 New Zealand and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 chamberlin 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 Rakim to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Moleskins. All the underground hits.
All Brand Nubian tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
These Immortal Souls,
Minutemen,
The Pop Group,
The American Breed,
Groovy Waters,
The Saints,
cv313,
The Cure,
Agent Orange,
Iggy Pop,
Ponytail,
Stetsasonic,
The Tremeloes,
Clear Light,
Newcleus,
Guru Guru,
T.S.O.L.,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Suicide,
Sex Pistols,
Cal Tjader,
Radiohead,
David McCallum,
Eric Dolphy,
Black Sheep,
UT,
The Leaves,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Schoolly D,
Terrestrial Tones,
Thompson Twins,
Altered Images,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Tom Boy,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Barracudas,
Accadde A,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Victims,
Lyres,
The Misunderstood,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Ituana,
Hasil Adkins,
Kas Product,
H. Thieme,
Mr. Review,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Steve Hackett,
Public Image Ltd.,
Mark Hollis,
Severed Heads,
Excepter,
Kevin Saunderson,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Fire Engines,
Wings,
The Mummies,
Magazine,
Mo-Dettes,
John Coltrane,
Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape.
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.