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 Qatar and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Heaven 17 to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Rosa Yemen. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rhythim Is Rhythim record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Young Rascals record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wolf Eyes,
Can,
The Knickerbockers,
Nas,
Ludus,
48th St. Collective,
Arcadia,
Albert Ayler,
Ponytail,
Throbbing Gristle,
R.M.O.,
Don Cherry,
Warsaw,
The Tremeloes,
Mary Jane Girls,
Zero Boys,
Yusef Lateef,
Jimmy McGriff,
Depeche Mode,
James White and The Blacks,
Eli Mardock,
Liliput,
Slick Rick,
Gong,
The Alarm Clocks,
Joyce Sims,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Dawn Penn,
The Dave Clark Five,
Camberwell Now,
Laurel Aitken,
The Red Krayola,
Cluster,
Darondo,
Crispian St. Peters,
Lightning Bolt,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Con Funk Shun,
Johnny Clarke,
Mission of Burma,
Chris Corsano,
Skriet,
This Heat,
Arthur Verocai,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Soulsonic Force,
Gang of Four,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Motions,
Adolescents,
Kayak,
Intrusion,
The Gories,
Avey Tare,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Gang Green,
The Last Poets,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Amon Düül II,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.