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 Micronesia and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Human League to the grime 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 Minutemen. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fatback Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eurythmics,
Aswad,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Fortunes,
Lower 48,
In Retrospect,
48th St. Collective,
Cecil Taylor,
the Soft Cell,
Ralphi Rosario,
X-101,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Young Rascals,
Bang On A Can,
Gabor Szabo,
Desert Stars,
Sällskapet,
The Fuzztones,
James White and The Blacks,
Terry Callier,
Mission of Burma,
Drexciya,
Moby Grape,
Visage,
Monolake,
Big Daddy Kane,
Gang of Four,
Radio Birdman,
CMW,
The Music Machine,
Porter Ricks,
Godley & Creme,
Schoolly D,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Man Parrish,
John Cale,
John Coltrane,
Harry Pussy,
Jeff Lynne,
Max Romeo,
One Last Wish,
Eddi Front,
Gregory Isaacs,
Wasted Youth,
The Wake,
The Real Kids,
Gang Gang Dance,
Black Sheep,
The Vogues,
Wire,
Al Stewart,
Tim Buckley,
Andrew Hill,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Glambeats Corp.,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Buzzcocks,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Cybotron,
Tres Demented,
Eric Copeland,
Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich.
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.