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 Ireland and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Seoul.
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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Slackers to the rap 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 Wings. All the underground hits.
All Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Byron Stingily record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Intrusion,
The Dirtbombs,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Bronski Beat,
Deadbeat,
Sällskapet,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Jacques Brel,
Fluxion,
Kenny Larkin,
Todd Rundgren,
Malaria!,
Ken Boothe,
Tommy Roe,
the Association,
The Zeros,
Soul Sonic Force,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Minutemen,
The American Breed,
Ossler,
Groovy Waters,
Easy Going,
Todd Terry,
Thompson Twins,
Nick Fraelich,
Khruangbin,
Henry Cow,
The Knickerbockers,
Radio Birdman,
This Heat,
Talk Talk,
Zapp,
The Velvet Underground,
Cheater Slicks,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Names,
Vladislav Delay,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Smiths,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Quando Quango,
China Crisis,
Masters at Work,
The Trojans,
Jawbox,
The Kinks,
Reuben Wilson,
Half Japanese,
Wasted Youth,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Josef K,
Camouflage,
Ultravox,
Peter and Kerry,
Marvin Gaye,
Panda Bear,
Terrestrial Tones,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Guru Guru,
Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey.
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.