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 Chad and from Tokyo.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Sao Paulo.
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 Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the güiro 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 Index to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel. All the underground hits.
All Ultimate Spinach tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Alarm Clocks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rosa Yemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe 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 Gun Club,
Wire,
The Gladiators,
Gil Scott Heron,
Faraquet,
CMW,
Royal Trux,
Von Mondo,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Brass Construction,
Interpol,
PIL,
cv313,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
DNA,
Gichy Dan,
Dual Sessions,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Tomorrow,
Sight & Sound,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Dead Boys,
Iggy Pop,
Guru Guru,
Panda Bear,
The Mummies,
Rotary Connection,
Flamin' Groovies,
Sällskapet,
Joyce Sims,
Amazonics,
Boz Scaggs,
Black Sheep,
Howard Jones,
Goldenarms,
K-Klass,
Lucky Dragons,
Ice-T,
Ralphi Rosario,
Glambeats Corp.,
Albert Ayler,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Crispy Ambulance,
Gabor Szabo,
Fatback Band,
Mantronix,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Birthday Party,
Adolescents,
World's Most,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Kayak,
Deadbeat,
Audionom,
Mission of Burma,
Peter & Gordon,
Niagra,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Symarip, Symarip, Symarip, Symarip.
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.