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 Finland and from Sao Paulo.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Be Bop Deluxe to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Slits. All the underground hits.
All Lee Hazlewood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hardrive record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gladiators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Green,
James White and The Blacks,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Von Mondo,
The Litter,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Doors,
Scrapy,
Electric Prunes,
Slave,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Divine Comedy,
Charles Mingus,
Hoover,
The Gladiators,
The Tremeloes,
Vainqueur,
Erykah Badu,
Moebius,
Eden Ahbez,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
CMW,
Warren Ellis,
Popol Vuh,
Soulsonic Force,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Donald Byrd,
Groovy Waters,
Bill Near,
Howard Jones,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gang Starr,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
June Days,
Robert Hood,
D'Angelo,
Peter & Gordon,
Mission of Burma,
Second Layer,
Ituana,
Boz Scaggs,
London Community Gospel Choir,
New York Dolls,
Graham Central Station,
Patti Smith,
Camberwell Now,
Excepter,
Negative Approach,
Bauhaus,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Au Pairs,
Funky Four + One,
Alison Limerick,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bobby Sherman,
Shoche,
Guru Guru,
David Bowie,
Suburban Knight,
Barbara Tucker,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.