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 Costa Rica and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Todd Rundgren to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Simply Red 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 a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Eating Sloth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Symarip,
Fatback Band,
Interpol,
Moebius,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Man Parrish,
Tim Buckley,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Nirvana,
Arab on Radar,
Josef K,
Main Source,
Peter and Kerry,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Detroit Cobras,
Bush Tetras,
David Axelrod,
Marcia Griffiths,
H. Thieme,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rekid,
Rotary Connection,
Pulsallama,
Animal Collective,
Dawn Penn,
Soft Machine,
Camouflage,
The American Breed,
Alison Limerick,
The Gories,
Colin Newman,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
T. Rex,
Sixth Finger,
The Residents,
Girls At Our Best!,
Sällskapet,
Faust,
The Busters,
Masters at Work,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Golliwogs,
Blancmange,
cv313,
Public Enemy,
Lakeside,
John Foxx,
B.T. Express,
The Vogues,
Boogie Down Productions,
Wire,
Liliput,
The Offenders,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
One Last Wish,
Thompson Twins,
a-ha,
Jawbox,
The Index,
The Cowsills,
Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia.
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.