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 St Kitts & Nevis and from New York.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Crooked Eye to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Strawberry Alarm Clock. All the underground hits.
All Suburban Knight 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 grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Busters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bronski Beat,
Marmalade,
D'Angelo,
Sparks,
Mad Mike,
The Index,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rites of Spring,
The Electric Prunes,
Reagan Youth,
Television Personalities,
Deakin,
cv313,
Matthew Bourne,
Iggy Pop,
Tears for Fears,
Royal Trux,
Crime,
Blossom Toes,
Eric Copeland,
Graham Central Station,
Japan,
Blake Baxter,
Rosa Yemen,
Suburban Knight,
Wally Richardson,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Ronnie Foster,
Cheater Slicks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Kaleidoscope,
Flipper,
Judy Mowatt,
Davy DMX,
The Associates,
The Golliwogs,
The Dave Clark Five,
Robert Wyatt,
Todd Terry,
Jeff Lynne,
Outsiders,
Zero Boys,
Wolf Eyes,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Slackers,
Joy Division,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Arthur Verocai,
Visage,
The Litter,
Oblivians,
Peter and Kerry,
Pantytec,
UT,
Jacques Brel,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
F. McDonald,
Michelle Simonal, Michelle Simonal, Michelle Simonal, Michelle Simonal.
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.