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 Ethiopia and from Lyon.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ 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 Yazoo to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moss Icon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Residents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sunsets and Hearts,
Nirvana,
B.T. Express,
Parry Music,
Absolute Body Control,
Harmonia,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Curtis Mayfield,
Lakeside,
Hoover,
The Trojans,
Fad Gadget,
The Sound,
Crime,
Isaac Hayes,
Bobby Womack,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Scratch Acid,
the Bar-Kays,
Moss Icon,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Monochrome Set,
The Beau Brummels,
Boz Scaggs,
Arcadia,
Rites of Spring,
Bobbi Humphrey,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Moby Grape,
The Knickerbockers,
DJ Style,
Marc Almond,
Gang Starr,
Peter & Gordon,
Pussy Galore,
Neu!,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Gerry Rafferty,
Popol Vuh,
The Searchers,
Bobby Byrd,
Grauzone,
Ponytail,
Gastr Del Sol,
Mad Mike,
Zero Boys,
Y Pants,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Index,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Japan,
Susan Cadogan,
The Divine Comedy,
Dawn Penn,
The Selecter,
A Certain Ratio,
Marvin Gaye,
The Dirtbombs,
Echospace,
Drexciya,
Simply Red,
the Slits,
One Last Wish,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.