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 Mexico and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Searchers to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 U.S. Maple. All the underground hits.
All Porter Ricks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radiohead record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
D'Angelo,
Eve St. Jones,
Maleditus Sound,
The Blues Magoos,
Spandau Ballet,
Erasure,
The J.B.'s,
La Düsseldorf,
Ronnie Foster,
Trumans Water,
Dual Sessions,
Janne Schatter,
Unrelated Segments,
The Music Machine,
Kerri Chandler,
Shuggie Otis,
Chris Corsano,
Frankie Knuckles,
Ohio Players,
Avey Tare,
Juan Atkins,
T. Rex,
Faust,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Bill Wells,
The Invisible,
Bobby Sherman,
Anakelly,
Thee Headcoats,
June Days,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Fortunes,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Rod Modell,
Harpers Bizarre,
Pierre Henry,
Soul II Soul,
The Sound,
Rites of Spring,
Wings,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ornette Coleman,
Junior Murvin,
Boz Scaggs,
Hasil Adkins,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Yazoo,
Marshall Jefferson,
the Association,
Lower 48,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Parry Music,
Ossler,
The Slits,
Boogie Down Productions,
Danielle Patucci,
Dennis Brown,
Al Stewart,
The Names,
Ituana,
Outsiders,
David Bowie,
Aswad, Aswad, Aswad, Aswad.
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.