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 Ivory Coast and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Edmonton.
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 organ 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 Ohio Players to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Leonard Cohen. All the underground hits.
All Supertramp tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dave Clark Five record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barrington Levy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Quadrant,
DNA,
This Heat,
The Wake,
The Cure,
Ludus,
Rod Modell,
Dave Gahan,
Shuggie Otis,
Terry Callier,
The Red Krayola,
Ralphi Rosario,
Lyres,
Average White Band,
The Flesh Eaters,
John Coltrane,
LL Cool J,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
the Bar-Kays,
Grauzone,
Dorothy Ashby,
Barrington Levy,
Buzzcocks,
Nick Fraelich,
Shoche,
Big Daddy Kane,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Altered Images,
Simply Red,
Angry Samoans,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Sound,
K-Klass,
The Names,
Anakelly,
Scion,
Interpol,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Vogues,
David Bowie,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Stereo Dub,
Faraquet,
Black Bananas,
Cybotron,
Animal Collective,
The Trojans,
Eric Dolphy,
The Modern Lovers,
June Days,
Half Japanese,
Radiohead,
Arthur Verocai,
Adolescents,
Desert Stars,
Q65,
Gang of Four,
Slick Rick, Slick Rick, Slick Rick, Slick Rick.
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.