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 Dominican Republic and from Sao Paulo.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Blancmange to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Anthony Braxton. All the underground hits.
All N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barry Ungar record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 an organ and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hot Snakes,
Simply Red,
Soft Cell,
Dual Sessions,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gang Starr,
Henry Cow,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Move,
Procol Harum,
Joe Finger,
New Order,
The Gories,
Eli Mardock,
Kool Moe Dee,
Drexciya,
The Sound,
Maleditus Sound,
Tres Demented,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gang Green,
DJ Sneak,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Whodini,
Metal Thangz,
Fat Boys,
The New Christs,
The Monks,
The Seeds,
Lindisfarne,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Alton Ellis,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Happenings,
Cal Tjader,
Von Mondo,
U.S. Maple,
Warren Ellis,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Fear,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Alice Coltrane,
Suburban Knight,
Cymande,
Clear Light,
The Pretty Things,
Dead Boys,
The Martian,
Kevin Saunderson,
Janne Schatter,
Lakeside,
The Doobie Brothers,
Jesper Dahlback,
Glenn Branca,
Depeche Mode,
The Smoke,
David Axelrod,
Pussy Galore,
Motorama, Motorama, Motorama, Motorama.
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.