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 Madagascar and from Lagos.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Tokyo.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Desert Stars to the grunge 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 Velvet Underground. All the underground hits.
All Adolescents tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scan 7 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kango’s Stein Massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Flipper,
Ultravox,
Todd Rundgren,
Dead Boys,
Ken Boothe,
The Neon Judgement,
Tom Boy,
Wasted Youth,
Roger Hodgson,
Andrew Hill,
Alphaville,
The Motions,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Easy Going,
Newcleus,
Bluetip,
Howard Jones,
Porter Ricks,
Grey Daturas,
The Leaves,
Reagan Youth,
Sparks,
Nation of Ulysses,
Ohio Players,
Eric Copeland,
The Durutti Column,
Sister Nancy,
Pantaleimon,
Iggy Pop,
Schoolly D,
Dorothy Ashby,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Kinks,
Ralphi Rosario,
Jacob Miller,
John Lydon,
Alison Limerick,
Shuggie Otis,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Animal Collective,
Urselle,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Eddi Front,
Traffic Nightmare,
Echospace,
The Happenings,
Donald Byrd,
Brass Construction,
Chris Corsano,
F. McDonald,
Jimmy McGriff,
Max Romeo,
Soft Machine,
X-102,
EPMD,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Monks,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Crispian St. Peters,
Make Up,
Bronski Beat,
Fear, Fear, Fear, Fear.
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.