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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Sex Pistols 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 Nils Olav. All the underground hits.
All Toni Rubio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Model 500 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 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minutemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fela Kuti,
David Bowie,
Sister Nancy,
Sex Pistols,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Drive Like Jehu,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Skatalites,
James White and The Blacks,
Lyres,
Danielle Patucci,
Franke,
Heaven 17,
The Dead C,
Interpol,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Barrington Levy,
Sun Ra,
Ronan,
Shuggie Otis,
Tom Boy,
Kool Moe Dee,
Mo-Dettes,
Talk Talk,
Traffic Nightmare,
Eric Copeland,
The United States of America,
The Move,
Don Cherry,
Steve Hackett,
Minor Threat,
Mars,
Model 500,
Donald Byrd,
Popol Vuh,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Ludus,
The Divine Comedy,
Oblivians,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Monks,
Black Sheep,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Letta Mbulu,
Henry Cow,
Amon Düül II,
The Detroit Cobras,
Jimmy McGriff,
Flamin' Groovies,
Excepter,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Dead Boys,
Kas Product,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Pop Group,
La Düsseldorf,
Godley & Creme,
Accadde A,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
the Soft Cell,
Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson.
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.