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 Kiribati and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Reuben Wilson 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 Kango’s Stein Massive. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dave Gahan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Buckinghams,
The Toasters,
Interpol,
La Düsseldorf,
Pantytec,
Nas,
Whodini,
Buzzcocks,
Ronan,
Kerrie Biddell,
Camberwell Now,
E-Dancer,
Ituana,
Eden Ahbez,
Moebius,
Erykah Badu,
The Techniques,
Funkadelic,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Bluetip,
Sister Nancy,
Gang Green,
David Bowie,
L. Decosne,
The Human League,
Girls At Our Best!,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Pop Group,
the Bar-Kays,
Silicon Teens,
Rakim,
The Dead C,
Sun Ra,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Roy Ayers,
The Selecter,
Gil Scott Heron,
Derrick Morgan,
Scott Walker,
Lebanon Hanover,
Cheater Slicks,
Soft Machine,
The Real Kids,
Kerri Chandler,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
48th St. Collective,
John Holt,
The Slackers,
Bizarre Inc.,
Bob Dylan,
Jimmy McGriff,
Pantaleimon,
Kenny Larkin,
Graham Central Station,
The Red Krayola,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.