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 China 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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Alarm Clocks to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 KRS-One. All the underground hits.
All Jeru the Damaja tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tubeway Army record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sisters of Mercy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oblivians,
Bobby Womack,
Kerri Chandler,
Ice-T,
Tom Boy,
The Raincoats,
Cal Tjader,
The Cure,
Sun City Girls,
Andrew Hill,
Dawn Penn,
The Kinks,
Scratch Acid,
Letta Mbulu,
Ken Boothe,
Groovy Waters,
Susan Cadogan,
The Zeros,
Carl Craig,
Crispy Ambulance,
Mission of Burma,
The Red Krayola,
The Neon Judgement,
Warsaw,
Theoretical Girls,
Zapp,
Easy Going,
The Count Five,
Camberwell Now,
Blancmange,
The Last Poets,
The Wake,
Byron Stingily,
The Trojans,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Ultravox,
Prince Buster,
New Age Steppers,
Don Cherry,
Bush Tetras,
Sexual Harrassment,
Icehouse,
OOIOO,
Suburban Knight,
Archie Shepp,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Junior Murvin,
The Birthday Party,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Althea and Donna,
Fad Gadget,
Ultimate Spinach,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Magma,
MC5,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.