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 Niger and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 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 Harry Pussy to the punk 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 Justin Hinds & The Dominoes. All the underground hits.
All Ash Ra Tempel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nils Olav 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Stetsasonic,
The Associates,
Roger Hodgson,
Quando Quango,
Minor Threat,
Dead Boys,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Roxette,
June of 44,
The Mojo Men,
The New Christs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
John Cale,
The Beau Brummels,
Robert Hood,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Colin Newman,
Barrington Levy,
Eli Mardock,
Grauzone,
Harmonia,
The Shadows of Knight,
Crime,
Jeff Mills,
Ultimate Spinach,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Vainqueur,
Deepchord,
Joyce Sims,
Glenn Branca,
Pharoah Sanders,
Nation of Ulysses,
Trumans Water,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Agent Orange,
Ituana,
The Smoke,
Byron Stingily,
Crispy Ambulance,
Drive Like Jehu,
Yellowson,
New Order,
A Certain Ratio,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Monochrome Set,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Whodini,
Alphaville,
Country Teasers,
Ice-T,
The Cowsills,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sugar Minott,
The Leaves,
Mr. Review,
Organ,
In Retrospect,
Procol Harum,
Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators.
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.