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 Iraq and from Lagos.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 John Holt to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Toni Rubio. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dead Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Toasters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Excepter,
Barry Ungar,
Stetsasonic,
Roxy Music,
The Dead C,
Rakim,
Yellowson,
Dorothy Ashby,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Smog,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Cheater Slicks,
Jawbox,
Bobby Sherman,
Second Layer,
Little Man,
Scion,
Kool Moe Dee,
In Retrospect,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Shuggie Otis,
Desert Stars,
Big Daddy Kane,
Terry Callier,
Minor Threat,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Aural Exciters,
The Zeros,
Electric Prunes,
Minnie Riperton,
Funkadelic,
Eve St. Jones,
CMW,
Boredoms,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Spandau Ballet,
Gang of Four,
48th St. Collective,
John Holt,
Young Marble Giants,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Barclay James Harvest,
Pantytec,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Moleskins,
Yusef Lateef,
Bluetip,
Faraquet,
Fela Kuti,
Rites of Spring,
Deakin,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Mojo Men,
The Saints,
Amazonics,
The Knickerbockers,
Ponytail,
Altered Images,
the Bar-Kays,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.