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 Tonga and from Columbus.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the organ 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 Crash Course in Science to the grime 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 Stetsasonic. All the underground hits.
All Thee Headcoats tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Angels of Light record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
The Mojo Men,
Sight & Sound,
June Days,
Lee Hazlewood,
Rapeman,
The Neon Judgement,
Parry Music,
Wally Richardson,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Toasters,
kango's stein massive,
Loose Ends,
Godley & Creme,
Sonny Sharrock,
Kurtis Blow,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Gladiators,
Sexual Harrassment,
Skarface,
The Invisible,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Jeff Lynne,
Janne Schatter,
Surgeon,
Graham Central Station,
E-Dancer,
Cameo,
Bauhaus,
Ohio Players,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
World's Most,
Jandek,
Heaven 17,
John Coltrane,
cv313,
The Seeds,
Organ,
Tres Demented,
Eurythmics,
Kayak,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Crispian St. Peters,
Alton Ellis,
ABC,
Spandau Ballet,
KRS-One,
Index,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Ultimate Spinach,
Chris & Cosey,
The Index,
LL Cool J,
Zapp,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Five Americans,
Quando Quango,
Hoover,
Ralphi Rosario,
Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks, Cheater Slicks.
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.