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 Swaziland and from Lille.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Amon Düül to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Harry Pussy. All the underground hits.
All Chris & Cosey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every MC5 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 808 and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mo-Dettes,
Bill Near,
Angry Samoans,
Robert Wyatt,
The Selecter,
World's Most,
Blake Baxter,
Sex Pistols,
Radio Birdman,
Oblivians,
Derrick May,
Bang On A Can,
JFA,
Aaron Thompson,
Crispian St. Peters,
Franke,
David Bowie,
Index,
Soft Machine,
This Heat,
Shuggie Otis,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
John Cale,
Royal Trux,
Lower 48,
Moebius,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Tres Demented,
Black Pus,
Depeche Mode,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Roxy Music,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Gichy Dan,
Boz Scaggs,
The Neon Judgement,
The Star Department,
Wings,
Bobby Sherman,
Max Romeo,
The United States of America,
Grandmaster Flash,
Faraquet,
48th St. Collective,
Unrelated Segments,
Gregory Isaacs,
Peter & Gordon,
Talk Talk,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Slackers,
FM Einheit,
Crooked Eye,
Archie Shepp,
Robert Görl,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jeff Mills,
X-Ray Spex,
Deadbeat,
Bauhaus,
The Cure,
Ronnie Foster,
Altered Images,
Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls.
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.