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 Seychelles and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Larry & the Blue Notes to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All The Offenders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Womack record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Beau Brummels record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masters at Work,
Tears for Fears,
Arab on Radar,
Sam Rivers,
Y Pants,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Invisible,
Pylon,
The Flesh Eaters,
the Association,
Lou Reed,
Niagra,
Joe Smooth,
The Wake,
Black Bananas,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Byron Stingily,
Marshall Jefferson,
In Retrospect,
Marine Girls,
The Mojo Men,
The Monochrome Set,
Oblivians,
Joe Finger,
Alison Limerick,
Wolf Eyes,
Franke,
Warsaw,
Model 500,
Tropical Tobacco,
Cal Tjader,
Curtis Mayfield,
Mars,
Jeff Mills,
the Slits,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Fugs,
Pagans,
Todd Terry,
Sällskapet,
Half Japanese,
Jacques Brel,
Fat Boys,
Sound Behaviour,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Hasil Adkins,
Morten Harket,
Organ,
The Blues Magoos,
The United States of America,
The Golliwogs,
Jimmy McGriff,
Khruangbin,
Mark Hollis,
Rites of Spring,
Adolescents,
Altered Images,
Kerrie Biddell,
Pulsallama,
Crash Course in Science,
The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids.
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.