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 Solomon Islands and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 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 The Gladiators to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Michelle Simonal. All the underground hits.
All Traffic Nightmare tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ten City record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 a guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Neu!,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Cybotron,
The Doors,
The Doobie Brothers,
Scrapy,
Pussy Galore,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Hoover,
Scratch Acid,
Wire,
Michelle Simonal,
The Slits,
Mark Hollis,
Sam Rivers,
Loose Ends,
Joyce Sims,
Yaz,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Essential Logic,
Lungfish,
Nirvana,
The Names,
Heaven 17,
Scientists,
Radiohead,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Schoolly D,
Amon Düül II,
MC5,
Can,
David Bowie,
Jacob Miller,
Excepter,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Young Rascals,
The Saints,
Traffic Nightmare,
Hardrive,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Carl Craig,
Letta Mbulu,
R.M.O.,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Fire Engines,
Donald Byrd,
Lower 48,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Donny Hathaway,
Robert Hood,
Angry Samoans,
the Association,
Gil Scott Heron,
Royal Trux,
Liliput,
Aswad,
Joe Smooth,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.