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 Denmark and from Philadelphia.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Paris.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 8 Eyed Spy to the rap 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 Thompson Twins. All the underground hits.
All Crispy Ambulance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cal Tjader record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arab on Radar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Seeds,
Camouflage,
Bobby Sherman,
Delon & Dalcan,
Chrome,
Roxette,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Guru Guru,
Nico,
The Smiths,
Kevin Saunderson,
Country Teasers,
Gang of Four,
Carl Craig,
The Detroit Cobras,
Royal Trux,
Alton Ellis,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Neon Judgement,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ohio Players,
Loose Ends,
Altered Images,
Pere Ubu,
Circle Jerks,
Spandau Ballet,
Bill Wells,
Excepter,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Lou Christie,
The Mojo Men,
The Smoke,
Frankie Knuckles,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Moleskins,
Johnny Clarke,
Kaleidoscope,
David Axelrod,
Skaos,
Ice-T,
Masters at Work,
Tropical Tobacco,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Morten Harket,
Sandy B,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Shuggie Otis,
Lyres,
The Blues Magoos,
June of 44,
Colin Newman,
Peter and Kerry,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Aural Exciters,
F. McDonald,
Dennis Brown,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Agitation Free, Agitation Free, Agitation Free, Agitation Free.
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.