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 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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Au Pairs to the disco 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 Underground Resistance. All the underground hits.
All The Peanut Butter Conspiracy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mummies 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultra Naté record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin 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 Electric Prunes,
Mary Jane Girls,
Rosa Yemen,
the Normal,
Mo-Dettes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Drive Like Jehu,
Loose Ends,
Patti Smith,
Throbbing Gristle,
Iggy Pop,
Byron Stingily,
Metal Thangz,
Masters at Work,
cv313,
Cybotron,
The Gladiators,
Mr. Review,
The Flesh Eaters,
Tropical Tobacco,
Panda Bear,
Nick Fraelich,
Quadrant,
Maleditus Sound,
Nation of Ulysses,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Jesper Dahlback,
Minny Pops,
Glambeats Corp.,
Scrapy,
8 Eyed Spy,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Dead Boys,
Motorama,
Pierre Henry,
Robert Görl,
Flash Fearless,
Funky Four + One,
F. McDonald,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Man Eating Sloth,
Kayak,
Rod Modell,
Janne Schatter,
The Gun Club,
John Holt,
Kurtis Blow,
The Music Machine,
Tom Boy,
Eurythmics,
the Association,
Organ,
Sister Nancy,
Eric Copeland,
Y Pants,
Chris Corsano,
Sun City Girls,
The Cure,
Bill Wells,
Brand Nubian,
Stockholm Monsters,
Television,
Scratch Acid,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.