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 Papua New Guinea and from Taipei.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Salvador.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sexual Harrassment to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Saccharine Trust. All the underground hits.
All Bauhaus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fugazi 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Section 25 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang of Four,
Rakim,
Skarface,
Rosa Yemen,
Easy Going,
Gerry Rafferty,
Morten Harket,
Angry Samoans,
Interpol,
Moebius,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Vladislav Delay,
The Invisible,
The Litter,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Heaven 17,
Pere Ubu,
Funkadelic,
Supertramp,
Mandrill,
Colin Newman,
Pantaleimon,
Bill Wells,
The Durutti Column,
F. McDonald,
Inner City,
The Fall,
Ponytail,
Deadbeat,
DNA,
Brick,
The Cure,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Gichy Dan,
Stiv Bators,
Soul II Soul,
Robert Wyatt,
Quantec,
Icehouse,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Radiopuhelimet,
Man Eating Sloth,
Fat Boys,
Moss Icon,
PIL,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
New Order,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Minutemen,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Stooges,
Massinfluence,
Tim Buckley,
The Standells,
Sight & Sound,
Index,
UT,
Newcleus,
Scan 7,
Jandek,
John Lydon,
Delon & Dalcan,
Fela Kuti, Fela Kuti, Fela Kuti, Fela Kuti.
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.