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 Kiribati and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Buzzcocks to the rock 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 AZ. All the underground hits.
All Kevin Saunderson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Major Organ And The Adding Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Clear Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nik Kershaw,
Marvin Gaye,
Lou Christie,
Jacques Brel,
James White and The Blacks,
Lindisfarne,
The Toasters,
Eric Copeland,
Glenn Branca,
Quando Quango,
Nation of Ulysses,
Boz Scaggs,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Wire,
Dark Day,
Ituana,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Skatalites,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Kerrie Biddell,
Magazine,
Aural Exciters,
A Certain Ratio,
The Buckinghams,
The Divine Comedy,
Moebius,
DNA,
Quantec,
Second Layer,
Brick,
Franke,
Accadde A,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Mummies,
Youth Brigade,
Minutemen,
Bluetip,
Desert Stars,
Agent Orange,
Faraquet,
Flamin' Groovies,
Spandau Ballet,
Fluxion,
Vladislav Delay,
Gang Starr,
Girls At Our Best!,
Skarface,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Deadbeat,
Sarah Menescal,
Kevin Saunderson,
Matthew Halsall,
John Cale,
Kas Product,
Johnny Clarke,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Kenny Larkin,
Agitation Free,
Depeche Mode,
Monolake, Monolake, Monolake, Monolake.
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.