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 Kenya and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 Mexico City and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 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 Cymande to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Terrestrial Tones. All the underground hits.
All Magazine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sam Rivers 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scrapy,
Black Flag,
Donny Hathaway,
The Blues Magoos,
The Names,
Gabor Szabo,
Minny Pops,
Royal Trux,
Slave,
Deakin,
the Sonics,
Vainqueur,
Eli Mardock,
Shoche,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Litter,
Magazine,
LL Cool J,
Piero Umiliani,
T. Rex,
Sunsets and Hearts,
David McCallum,
Liliput,
Flash Fearless,
Joe Finger,
Robert Wyatt,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Techniques,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Swans,
Dave Gahan,
The Count Five,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Scientists,
Tears for Fears,
Rufus Thomas,
Sex Pistols,
R.M.O.,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Gang Green,
a-ha,
Main Source,
The Shadows of Knight,
Beasts of Bourbon,
In Retrospect,
Bush Tetras,
Morten Harket,
Carl Craig,
Joey Negro,
The Walker Brothers,
Josef K,
La Düsseldorf,
Eden Ahbez,
Ludus,
Flipper,
Prince Buster,
Black Bananas,
Symarip,
Hoover,
Marmalade,
Moebius, Moebius, Moebius, Moebius.
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.