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 Ukraine and from Hong Kong.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Sonics to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 La Düsseldorf. All the underground hits.
All Iggy Pop tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bad Manners 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brick,
H. Thieme,
Symarip,
Gregory Isaacs,
Deepchord,
Grey Daturas,
cv313,
The Beau Brummels,
Moby Grape,
Pole,
Al Stewart,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Scratch Acid,
Niagra,
Hasil Adkins,
The Young Rascals,
Main Source,
June Days,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
R.M.O.,
Oneida,
Roxette,
Eric B and Rakim,
Frankie Knuckles,
Model 500,
Suburban Knight,
Lalann,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Index,
Heaven 17,
Second Layer,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Flesh Eaters,
Don Cherry,
Grandmaster Flash,
Blancmange,
Pagans,
Moss Icon,
The Leaves,
The Smiths,
Gang Starr,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Mark Hollis,
Colin Newman,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Marc Almond,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Doobie Brothers,
Nils Olav,
Matthew Halsall,
Arcadia,
Chris Corsano,
The New Christs,
Lakeside,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sex Pistols,
The Sonics,
Radiohead,
China Crisis,
Chrome, Chrome, Chrome, Chrome.
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.