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 Slovakia and from Winnipeg.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 theremin 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 Bobby Womack to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Ajijia Myrayebe. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Hill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lee Hazlewood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fear,
F. McDonald,
Goldenarms,
Los Fastidios,
Black Bananas,
Ronnie Foster,
Y Pants,
The Searchers,
Spandau Ballet,
A Certain Ratio,
Gichy Dan,
The Vogues,
Marine Girls,
Angry Samoans,
Gerry Rafferty,
Duran Duran,
Byron Stingily,
Drexciya,
Girls At Our Best!,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Neil Young,
Brand Nubian,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Amazonics,
Can,
Stockholm Monsters,
Wasted Youth,
Soulsonic Force,
The Dirtbombs,
Ten City,
Kerri Chandler,
Quadrant,
Lungfish,
The Litter,
Jawbox,
Underground Resistance,
Bauhaus,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Remains,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
R.M.O.,
Danielle Patucci,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Seeds,
Colin Newman,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Fortunes,
Carl Craig,
Max Romeo,
Sound Behaviour,
Ultravox,
David McCallum,
In Retrospect,
Fad Gadget,
The Associates,
Avey Tare,
Jeru the Damaja,
Marvin Gaye, Marvin Gaye, Marvin Gaye, Marvin Gaye.
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.