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 Panama and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 güiro 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 Minnie Riperton to the grunge 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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Liaisons Dangereuses tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Martian 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pulsallama record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minnie Riperton,
The Cramps,
Max Romeo,
Skriet,
kango's stein massive,
Kas Product,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Byron Stingily,
Outsiders,
10cc,
A Certain Ratio,
Howard Jones,
Visage,
The Gun Club,
Newcleus,
Gichy Dan,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Matthew Halsall,
The Angels of Light,
Panda Bear,
8 Eyed Spy,
Soft Machine,
Tears for Fears,
Joensuu 1685,
The Barracudas,
Echospace,
The Golliwogs,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kerri Chandler,
Cecil Taylor,
Albert Ayler,
Eddi Front,
Aural Exciters,
Scott Walker,
The Dead C,
Crooked Eye,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
T.S.O.L.,
Girls At Our Best!,
Cameo,
Bronski Beat,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Audionom,
Leonard Cohen,
Hot Snakes,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Marmalade,
The New Christs,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Doobie Brothers,
X-102,
The Birthday Party,
Sun City Girls,
Trumans Water,
The Gories,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Brand Nubian,
Avey Tare,
Warren Ellis,
Electric Prunes,
Section 25,
Jerry's Kids, Jerry's Kids, Jerry's Kids, Jerry's Kids.
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.