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 Lesotho and from Bologna.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Sandy B to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Sun Ra. All the underground hits.
All the Fania All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quando Quango record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joyce Sims,
Black Pus,
Porter Ricks,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Flamin' Groovies,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Barracudas,
Cluster,
Alison Limerick,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Names,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ituana,
The Dead C,
Ornette Coleman,
DJ Style,
Carl Craig,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Bizarre Inc.,
Echospace,
Rapeman,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Sonics,
Pantytec,
Black Moon,
Bronski Beat,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Skarface,
Cymande,
John Holt,
Bobby Byrd,
the Bar-Kays,
Monks,
Livin' Joy,
Television,
Jeff Lynne,
Lakeside,
Whodini,
June of 44,
Bobby Sherman,
Graham Central Station,
Soul Sonic Force,
Goldenarms,
The Pop Group,
MC5,
The Electric Prunes,
Sixth Finger,
World's Most,
The Moody Blues,
Rites of Spring,
Traffic Nightmare,
Pole,
Fluxion,
James White and The Blacks,
Los Fastidios,
Swans,
Rakim,
Pierre Henry,
Khruangbin,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Birthday Party,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Scott Walker, Scott Walker, Scott Walker, Scott Walker.
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.