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 Zambia and from Tehran.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Monks to the dance 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 Infiniti. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang of Four record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warren Ellis,
Agent Orange,
Au Pairs,
The Cowsills,
Cal Tjader,
Eric B and Rakim,
Little Man,
Sparks,
The Techniques,
Cluster,
The Birthday Party,
Johnny Clarke,
Hashim,
Buzzcocks,
Man Parrish,
Grey Daturas,
Hardrive,
Isaac Hayes,
The J.B.'s,
Public Enemy,
Mantronix,
Wolf Eyes,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ornette Coleman,
The Cure,
Warsaw,
Agitation Free,
Mark Hollis,
John Foxx,
Funkadelic,
Livin' Joy,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Electric Prunes,
Spoonie Gee,
David McCallum,
The Gun Club,
Babytalk,
Silicon Teens,
The Skatalites,
X-Ray Spex,
Masters at Work,
The Mummies,
Arthur Verocai,
The Litter,
Bauhaus,
Dawn Penn,
CMW,
Circle Jerks,
Sandy B,
Infiniti,
the Normal,
The Mojo Men,
Brothers Johnson,
Mad Mike,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Shuggie Otis,
Niagra,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Television,
Derrick May,
Blossom Toes,
Sällskapet,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs.
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.