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 Russia and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 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 Connie Case to the dance 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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Parrish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Velvet Underground record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
The Litter,
The Cramps,
Nirvana,
Royal Trux,
Derrick Morgan,
Rufus Thomas,
John Foxx,
The Dead C,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Darondo,
Alton Ellis,
Graham Central Station,
Bobby Sherman,
48th St. Collective,
Moby Grape,
The Martian,
Heaven 17,
Dual Sessions,
Von Mondo,
One Last Wish,
Liliput,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Vainqueur,
Desert Stars,
The Smiths,
Tommy Roe,
Aswad,
Faraquet,
Pierre Henry,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Tears for Fears,
Soft Machine,
Sparks,
Ludus,
Suburban Knight,
Excepter,
The Alarm Clocks,
T. Rex,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Fat Boys,
Shoche,
Sixth Finger,
Roxette,
Charles Mingus,
Marc Almond,
Patti Smith,
Brand Nubian,
K-Klass,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Sonics,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gichy Dan,
Pagans,
Neu!,
Simply Red,
EPMD,
New Order,
Bluetip,
David Axelrod,
Cecil Taylor,
Tropical Tobacco,
Minny Pops, Minny Pops, Minny Pops, Minny Pops.
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.