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 Turkmenistan and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Happenings to the electroclash 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock. All the underground hits.
All Barry Ungar tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Black Dice record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a ABC record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mantronix,
Jeff Mills,
Glambeats Corp.,
Fela Kuti,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Fugazi,
The Real Kids,
Eric Copeland,
the Bar-Kays,
Sex Pistols,
Bill Wells,
Marc Almond,
Deakin,
Warsaw,
Nils Olav,
Shoche,
Gil Scott Heron,
Icehouse,
Lou Christie,
Ronnie Foster,
Procol Harum,
Colin Newman,
Idris Muhammad,
Black Pus,
The Sonics,
Swans,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Zero Boys,
Model 500,
Black Moon,
Monks,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Names,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Aural Exciters,
Hashim,
Danielle Patucci,
the Human League,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fat Boys,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Malaria!,
Aloha Tigers,
Isaac Hayes,
Camberwell Now,
The Fugs,
The Wake,
Tommy Roe,
Byron Stingily,
Spandau Ballet,
Anthony Braxton,
Q and Not U,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
ABBA,
Mad Mike,
Scott Walker,
Robert Hood,
Kerri Chandler,
Heaven 17,
Monolake,
Bush Tetras,
a-ha,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.