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 Turkey and from Salvador.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 guitar 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 The Pop Group to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Thompson Twins. All the underground hits.
All Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Cell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Schoolly D record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
R.M.O.,
Warsaw,
Heaven 17,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Swans,
Crooked Eye,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Hardrive,
Unrelated Segments,
Skaos,
Blossom Toes,
Bobbi Humphrey,
ABC,
Yusef Lateef,
Sex Pistols,
MDC,
The Fugs,
The Moody Blues,
Arab on Radar,
Eric Copeland,
Faraquet,
Black Pus,
UT,
Toni Rubio,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Stooges,
Gichy Dan,
Con Funk Shun,
Shoche,
Peter & Gordon,
Los Fastidios,
Dorothy Ashby,
Tubeway Army,
The Dave Clark Five,
Skarface,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Boogie Down Productions,
Rod Modell,
Deakin,
Agitation Free,
Scrapy,
Fluxion,
Quadrant,
Traffic Nightmare,
8 Eyed Spy,
Cecil Taylor,
Gang Gang Dance,
Tears for Fears,
Banda Bassotti,
F. McDonald,
Tommy Roe,
Pere Ubu,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Urselle,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ralphi Rosario,
Don Cherry,
Spandau Ballet,
Roger Hodgson,
Minutemen,
Bill Wells,
Jeff Mills,
The Trojans, The Trojans, The Trojans, The Trojans.
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.