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 Paraguay and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 The Young Rascals to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Roy Ayers. All the underground hits.
All Aural Exciters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Morten Harket record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Birthday Party record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cabaret Voltaire,
Alison Limerick,
Jacques Brel,
Chris Corsano,
Lyres,
Young Marble Giants,
Sex Pistols,
Country Teasers,
X-Ray Spex,
The Divine Comedy,
Ultravox,
KRS-One,
Soul Sonic Force,
Sparks,
Rufus Thomas,
Magma,
Kerri Chandler,
Boogie Down Productions,
Eddi Front,
Desert Stars,
The Fall,
Radiopuhelimet,
Con Funk Shun,
The Index,
Dead Boys,
Bill Wells,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Lou Reed,
Symarip,
Connie Case,
Judy Mowatt,
Brass Construction,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Kayak,
The Mummies,
Big Daddy Kane,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Roger Hodgson,
Dennis Brown,
Aswad,
The Beau Brummels,
Gang Green,
The Move,
Jeff Lynne,
The Litter,
Laurel Aitken,
Marmalade,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Patti Smith,
T. Rex,
Accadde A,
Drexciya,
Qualms,
Ituana,
Sällskapet,
Negative Approach,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Public Enemy,
Matthew Halsall,
Pantytec, Pantytec, Pantytec, Pantytec.
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.