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 Algeria and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 güiro 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 Todd Rundgren to the rap 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 Gladiators. All the underground hits.
All Gabor Szabo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Young Marble Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blossom Toes,
Traffic Nightmare,
Delta 5,
Loose Ends,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Con Funk Shun,
Patti Smith,
This Heat,
The Gun Club,
Bill Near,
H. Thieme,
the Slits,
Godley & Creme,
Minny Pops,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Goldenarms,
Spandau Ballet,
Erykah Badu,
Tubeway Army,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Rhythm & Sound,
Aswad,
Pantaleimon,
the Swans,
Altered Images,
Buzzcocks,
R.M.O.,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Dawn Penn,
China Crisis,
Laurel Aitken,
Delon & Dalcan,
Eric Dolphy,
Minor Threat,
Archie Shepp,
The Raincoats,
The Real Kids,
Freddie Wadling,
New Order,
Los Fastidios,
Swans,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Lower 48,
Severed Heads,
Cheater Slicks,
Grauzone,
Rakim,
John Holt,
Lou Reed,
Stiv Bators,
Peter and Kerry,
Kayak,
The Index,
New Age Steppers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Magazine,
Little Man,
The United States of America,
Bobby Womack,
Oneida,
Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin.
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.