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 Lebanon 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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Cheater Slicks to the jazz kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Sandy B. All the underground hits.
All Eyeless In Gaza tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Walker Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oneida record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Oneida,
Heaven 17,
Fat Boys,
Deakin,
Scan 7,
Rapeman,
The Searchers,
Leonard Cohen,
Gerry Rafferty,
Masters at Work,
Deadbeat,
Scott Walker,
Chris Corsano,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Beau Brummels,
Motorama,
Newcleus,
Ludus,
Skriet,
The Moleskins,
The Blackbyrds,
Altered Images,
Eli Mardock,
Alison Limerick,
Henry Cow,
Joyce Sims,
Das Ding,
Ponytail,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Crispian St. Peters,
Lindisfarne,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Names,
Desert Stars,
Wally Richardson,
The Last Poets,
Gabor Szabo,
Radiohead,
Joey Negro,
Babytalk,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Barbara Tucker,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Bluetip,
World's Most,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Grass Roots,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Electric Prunes,
Sun City Girls,
The Wake,
Adolescents,
Unrelated Segments,
Marine Girls,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Star Department,
Nick Fraelich,
Tres Demented,
The Mummies,
Steve Hackett, Steve Hackett, Steve Hackett, Steve Hackett.
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.