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 Benin and from Beijing.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft to the crunk 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 Television. All the underground hits.
All Eve St. Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Anthony Braxton record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
These Immortal Souls,
the Fania All-Stars,
Lungfish,
Moby Grape,
Theoretical Girls,
Ultra Naté,
Bronski Beat,
Sonic Youth,
Los Fastidios,
Neil Young,
Kevin Saunderson,
the Sonics,
Guru Guru,
Adolescents,
The Searchers,
Cluster,
The Buckinghams,
Rufus Thomas,
Brass Construction,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Kayak,
The Standells,
a-ha,
E-Dancer,
Fatback Band,
The Last Poets,
Sun Ra,
Brothers Johnson,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Slits,
Loose Ends,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Robert Hood,
Ronan,
Absolute Body Control,
The Evens,
Crime,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Dirtbombs,
Brick,
Section 25,
Inner City,
Dead Boys,
Model 500,
Mr. Review,
Gastr Del Sol,
Black Pus,
Anakelly,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Soft Machine,
Blancmange,
The Gories,
Tommy Roe,
Kerri Chandler,
Terrestrial Tones,
Howard Jones,
Pylon,
The Grass Roots,
Scan 7,
Agent Orange,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Accadde A,
The Selecter,
Television, Television, Television, Television.
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.