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 Eritrea and from Madrid.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Manchester.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare 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 Loose Ends to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All Lee Hazlewood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moody Blues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Black Dice record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deepchord,
The Electric Prunes,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Zeros,
The American Breed,
Peter & Gordon,
Lebanon Hanover,
Beasts of Bourbon,
B.T. Express,
Rekid,
Faust,
Letta Mbulu,
The Last Poets,
Terrestrial Tones,
Janne Schatter,
Nation of Ulysses,
Johnny Osbourne,
Mr. Review,
The Red Krayola,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Pretty Things,
James White and The Blacks,
Suicide,
The Names,
The Techniques,
Tom Boy,
Johnny Clarke,
Stockholm Monsters,
Skaos,
Tim Buckley,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Sex Pistols,
Trumans Water,
The Mummies,
Soul II Soul,
Parry Music,
the Human League,
Marshall Jefferson,
Eurythmics,
Adolescents,
Von Mondo,
Moby Grape,
Pet Shop Boys,
Agent Orange,
Barbara Tucker,
Blossom Toes,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Wasted Youth,
Nico,
Freddie Wadling,
Crooked Eye,
The Blues Magoos,
David McCallum,
Sarah Menescal,
R.M.O.,
Ultra Naté,
UT,
Ronnie Foster,
Niagra,
The Moody Blues,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins.
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.