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 Equatorial Guinea and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 mellotron 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 Mr. Review to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All 10cc tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Black Dice record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Move record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Khruangbin,
The Mummies,
Delon & Dalcan,
Fela Kuti,
The Electric Prunes,
Radio Birdman,
Fugazi,
H. Thieme,
Piero Umiliani,
Jandek,
Blake Baxter,
The Index,
Derrick May,
James White and The Blacks,
Janne Schatter,
Cecil Taylor,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Sixth Finger,
The Victims,
Nils Olav,
Deepchord,
Schoolly D,
Delta 5,
Rufus Thomas,
The Moody Blues,
Tropical Tobacco,
Los Fastidios,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Nico,
Agitation Free,
the Normal,
a-ha,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Second Layer,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Mandrill,
Shoche,
Massinfluence,
Black Bananas,
Wolf Eyes,
The Last Poets,
Marmalade,
Hardrive,
The Zeros,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
CMW,
Boz Scaggs,
Essential Logic,
Faust,
Skarface,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Matthew Halsall,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Henry Cow,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Negative Approach,
Niagra,
Skaos,
Buzzcocks,
Moebius,
Donald Byrd,
The Durutti Column,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.