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 Qatar and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 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 Ultra Naté to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Martian. All the underground hits.
All Television Personalities tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Parry Music record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Art Ensemble Of Chicago record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fire Engines,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Standells,
The Sonics,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gong,
Gang of Four,
Circle Jerks,
The Star Department,
The Martian,
Fugazi,
Malaria!,
Stiv Bators,
Arcadia,
Barclay James Harvest,
Crime,
Tomorrow,
Matthew Bourne,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Trumans Water,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Johnny Clarke,
Cameo,
Babytalk,
Fear,
The Grass Roots,
Harry Pussy,
Technova,
the Association,
Lindisfarne,
Delta 5,
DNA,
Liliput,
Echospace,
Jeff Mills,
Scion,
Max Romeo,
The Velvet Underground,
Bill Near,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Fela Kuti,
Warsaw,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pussy Galore,
Ohio Players,
Talk Talk,
Glenn Branca,
Rites of Spring,
David Bowie,
the Slits,
The Barracudas,
Delon & Dalcan,
Heaven 17,
London Community Gospel Choir,
DJ Style,
Yaz,
Q and Not U,
Metal Thangz,
Sex Pistols,
Swell Maps,
Black Sheep,
a-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha.
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.