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 Togo and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 marimba 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 The Pop Group to the dance 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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All the Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mr. Review record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Delon & Dalcan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
New York Dolls,
Visage,
Arab on Radar,
Pussy Galore,
Black Moon,
The United States of America,
Joy Division,
Con Funk Shun,
Bauhaus,
X-Ray Spex,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Unwound,
Echospace,
U.S. Maple,
Sister Nancy,
The Selecter,
The J.B.'s,
AZ,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Erykah Badu,
Aswad,
Archie Shepp,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Organ,
Brand Nubian,
Lindisfarne,
Ponytail,
Los Fastidios,
Kerri Chandler,
Lucky Dragons,
Icehouse,
Tubeway Army,
Brass Construction,
The Dave Clark Five,
Bob Dylan,
MC5,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Nils Olav,
Aloha Tigers,
Brothers Johnson,
Wally Richardson,
Josef K,
Minor Threat,
JFA,
The Fuzztones,
Stiv Bators,
The Busters,
The Raincoats,
the Bar-Kays,
Aaron Thompson,
Pole,
Q and Not U,
China Crisis,
Dead Boys,
Pulsallama,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Remains,
Cybotron,
Outsiders, Outsiders, Outsiders, Outsiders.
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.