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 Ecuador and from Madrid.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin 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 the Fania All-Stars to the funk 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 Fatback Band. All the underground hits.
All Black Bananas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rites of Spring record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stetsasonic,
Johnny Clarke,
Sister Nancy,
Theoretical Girls,
Brick,
Mark Hollis,
Sugar Minott,
Bill Near,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Wolf Eyes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Five Americans,
Eurythmics,
The Seeds,
The New Christs,
New York Dolls,
Essential Logic,
Donald Byrd,
Dawn Penn,
Connie Case,
Spoonie Gee,
Roxy Music,
Marvin Gaye,
Marc Almond,
Mantronix,
Robert Wyatt,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Goldenarms,
The Grass Roots,
The Gories,
Urselle,
Mad Mike,
Depeche Mode,
Jimmy McGriff,
Todd Rundgren,
Warren Ellis,
Reagan Youth,
The Toasters,
Wings,
The Raincoats,
The Slackers,
Lou Christie,
Charles Mingus,
Swans,
Isaac Hayes,
The J.B.'s,
The Angels of Light,
Crispy Ambulance,
Fatback Band,
48th St. Collective,
Erasure,
Tres Demented,
Juan Atkins,
Ten City,
The Birthday Party,
Ultra Naté,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Chrome,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.