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 Colombia and from Manchester.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Bronski Beat to the crunk 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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All New York Dolls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Associates record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Connie Case,
Dorothy Ashby,
Soft Cell,
Saccharine Trust,
Niagra,
Lou Reed,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Mad Mike,
Soul II Soul,
Eric B and Rakim,
Aural Exciters,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Offenders,
John Holt,
Stiv Bators,
Lalann,
Amazonics,
Qualms,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Eli Mardock,
ABBA,
Gang Green,
Eric Copeland,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Moody Blues,
Neu!,
Marmalade,
Lee Hazlewood,
Young Marble Giants,
Jeff Lynne,
MDC,
Tears for Fears,
Althea and Donna,
Cluster,
Sam Rivers,
Duran Duran,
Arab on Radar,
The Tremeloes,
The Mummies,
Yazoo,
Rakim,
Joe Smooth,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Gil Scott Heron,
Accadde A,
Essential Logic,
Brothers Johnson,
Soulsonic Force,
Michelle Simonal,
Dark Day,
Marshall Jefferson,
Fatback Band,
Tommy Roe,
H. Thieme,
Dawn Penn,
The Red Krayola,
Icehouse,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pole,
Wire,
The Martian, The Martian, The Martian, The Martian.
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.