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 Luxembourg and from Houston.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the sitar 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 Rakim to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Bar-Kays 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Agent Orange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Shadows of Knight,
Technova,
Liliput,
The Sound,
The Black Dice,
Al Stewart,
Outsiders,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Deepchord,
The Gories,
The Cramps,
Ten City,
Mantronix,
Henry Cow,
Susan Cadogan,
the Bar-Kays,
Sister Nancy,
Donald Byrd,
Groovy Waters,
Roxette,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Slave,
Television,
Blancmange,
Lou Reed,
Prince Buster,
Albert Ayler,
Bluetip,
Goldenarms,
The Blues Magoos,
The Seeds,
Gong,
Soft Cell,
The Pretty Things,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Underground Resistance,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Residents,
LL Cool J,
Lightning Bolt,
The Doors,
The Smoke,
Swans,
Yaz,
Angry Samoans,
Quantec,
Stereo Dub,
Wasted Youth,
The Divine Comedy,
The Cowsills,
Dawn Penn,
The Raincoats,
Toni Rubio,
Minutemen,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Metal Thangz,
Talk Talk,
Kenny Larkin,
The Grass Roots,
The Standells, The Standells, The Standells, The Standells.
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.