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 Uruguay and from Beijing.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Mumbai.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Nation of Ulysses to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Gichy Dan. All the underground hits.
All The Kinks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Manfred Mann's Earth Band 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb 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 oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Buzzcocks,
June Days,
Parry Music,
Amon Düül,
The Red Krayola,
Pagans,
Maurizio,
Tres Demented,
Juan Atkins,
Grauzone,
Connie Case,
Boredoms,
The J.B.'s,
Eve St. Jones,
Susan Cadogan,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Radio Birdman,
the Fania All-Stars,
Fela Kuti,
Amazonics,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
June of 44,
Nick Fraelich,
Au Pairs,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Scrapy,
CMW,
Steve Hackett,
Dennis Brown,
Fat Boys,
Oblivians,
Pantytec,
The Count Five,
Bronski Beat,
Panda Bear,
Ronan,
Camberwell Now,
The Zeros,
Mantronix,
Jawbox,
Sight & Sound,
The Mojo Men,
Scientists,
Suicide,
Das Ding,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Mary Jane Girls,
Rites of Spring,
Carl Craig,
Nik Kershaw,
Lightning Bolt,
Dead Boys,
Henry Cow,
Young Marble Giants,
The Fire Engines,
10cc,
The Dead C,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Dirtbombs,
The Durutti Column,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.