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 Marshall Islands and from Shanghai.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 rhodes 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 Kerrie Biddell to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Shadows of Knight. All the underground hits.
All Eve St. Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dorothy Ashby 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Coltrane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Blancmange,
Crooked Eye,
Fugazi,
Joe Finger,
Gabor Szabo,
Fat Boys,
Faust,
Schoolly D,
Oblivians,
David Bowie,
Ken Boothe,
Ultimate Spinach,
Nick Fraelich,
Tears for Fears,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ultravox,
Scratch Acid,
Cymande,
Soulsonic Force,
Procol Harum,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Freddie Wadling,
Boz Scaggs,
Lower 48,
The Black Dice,
Barry Ungar,
Pet Shop Boys,
Gichy Dan,
The Gories,
Rapeman,
The Cure,
The Doors,
Sarah Menescal,
8 Eyed Spy,
Harpers Bizarre,
Kool Moe Dee,
Grauzone,
Malaria!,
The Shadows of Knight,
Avey Tare,
Magazine,
Wire,
Skarface,
Porter Ricks,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Sound,
Khruangbin,
The Skatalites,
Eric B and Rakim,
Yazoo,
Sonny Sharrock,
Tres Demented,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Peter and Kerry,
Ice-T,
Motorama,
The J.B.'s,
Cybotron,
Jacques Brel,
Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun.
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.