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 Samoa and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and London.
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 synthesizer 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 Pretty Things to the funk 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 Kurtis Blow. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Barracudas 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a kango's stein massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gregory Isaacs,
Tommy Roe,
Radiohead,
Crispian St. Peters,
Sällskapet,
The Pop Group,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Howard Jones,
Japan,
The Motions,
Soft Machine,
Heaven 17,
Bang On A Can,
Icehouse,
The Alarm Clocks,
Eden Ahbez,
DNA,
Erykah Badu,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Dave Gahan,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
the Soft Cell,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Main Source,
The Victims,
Funkadelic,
Marshall Jefferson,
Boredoms,
DJ Sneak,
The Doors,
Gabor Szabo,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Skaos,
The Associates,
The Flesh Eaters,
Scratch Acid,
Nas,
The Blackbyrds,
Unrelated Segments,
Wolf Eyes,
Robert Görl,
Al Stewart,
Pylon,
Barrington Levy,
Wire,
Joey Negro,
Glenn Branca,
Black Flag,
Talk Talk,
The Modern Lovers,
The Evens,
New York Dolls,
Jeff Lynne,
Neu!,
Henry Cow,
Glambeats Corp.,
Hardrive,
Symarip,
Johnny Osbourne,
Sarah Menescal,
Depeche Mode,
Banda Bassotti,
Crispy Ambulance,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.