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 Nauru and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 organ 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 The Searchers to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barrington Levy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Iggy Pop record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Charles Mingus,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Frankie Knuckles,
Nils Olav,
Parry Music,
Johnny Clarke,
Toni Rubio,
The Dirtbombs,
Rekid,
The Saints,
Hardrive,
Terrestrial Tones,
Electric Prunes,
Bush Tetras,
Arthur Verocai,
Sex Pistols,
Alton Ellis,
Lee Hazlewood,
Josef K,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Theoretical Girls,
kango's stein massive,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Marc Almond,
Franke,
Animal Collective,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Blackbyrds,
the Slits,
The Knickerbockers,
Saccharine Trust,
Shuggie Otis,
John Cale,
Deadbeat,
In Retrospect,
The Modern Lovers,
The Divine Comedy,
Trumans Water,
Gregory Isaacs,
Dead Boys,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Popol Vuh,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Brass Construction,
Tropical Tobacco,
Iggy Pop,
Unwound,
Deakin,
Ultimate Spinach,
Lungfish,
Gerry Rafferty,
Drexciya,
Terry Callier,
Loose Ends,
The Kinks,
Lightning Bolt,
Sight & Sound,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Amon Düül,
Rapeman,
Quantec,
Thompson Twins,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.