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 Sri Lanka and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 Philadelphia and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Maleditus Sound to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Leaves. All the underground hits.
All Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C 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 theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Alison Limerick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
ABC,
the Normal,
Gerry Rafferty,
Roy Ayers,
Tomorrow,
Bang On A Can,
Hardrive,
Isaac Hayes,
Crispian St. Peters,
Reagan Youth,
a-ha,
The Durutti Column,
Lee Hazlewood,
Colin Newman,
Blancmange,
The Alarm Clocks,
Wolf Eyes,
The Dave Clark Five,
Dead Boys,
Gang Starr,
Johnny Clarke,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Cowsills,
Crooked Eye,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ronnie Foster,
Graham Central Station,
Surgeon,
The Slackers,
Nirvana,
Warren Ellis,
Joyce Sims,
The Tremeloes,
Terrestrial Tones,
Drexciya,
X-Ray Spex,
Electric Prunes,
Chris Corsano,
Jeru the Damaja,
Unwound,
Circle Jerks,
Avey Tare,
Chris & Cosey,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Dawn Penn,
Barry Ungar,
Magazine,
Michelle Simonal,
Moebius,
Jeff Lynne,
F. McDonald,
Rod Modell,
Smog,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Charles Mingus,
Bill Near,
Harry Pussy,
Suicide,
Pylon,
Althea and Donna,
Masters at Work,
the Soft Cell,
Mad Mike,
Newcleus, Newcleus, Newcleus, Newcleus.
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.