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 Albania and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Tropical Tobacco to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bang On A Can 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lou Christie record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Lucky Dragons,
Robert Görl,
Jacob Miller,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Beau Brummels,
Stetsasonic,
Scrapy,
Subhumans,
48th St. Collective,
Metal Thangz,
Grauzone,
Hardrive,
Thompson Twins,
The Skatalites,
Cymande,
Agitation Free,
Tubeway Army,
Parry Music,
Wally Richardson,
The Zeros,
Moby Grape,
DJ Sneak,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Mission of Burma,
The Gladiators,
Maleditus Sound,
Bobbi Humphrey,
These Immortal Souls,
Spoonie Gee,
Erasure,
Gong,
Stereo Dub,
Sun Ra,
Alton Ellis,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Velvet Underground,
Barbara Tucker,
Whodini,
Audionom,
The Young Rascals,
the Normal,
Urselle,
Man Parrish,
World's Most,
Eric Dolphy,
Laurel Aitken,
Minnie Riperton,
Gang of Four,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Negative Approach,
The Shadows of Knight,
LL Cool J,
Wolf Eyes,
Sonic Youth,
Yazoo,
Radio Birdman,
Amon Düül II,
Black Bananas,
K-Klass,
Niagra,
The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy.
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.