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 Vanuatu and from Shanghai.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Carl Craig to the punk 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 The Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Slits record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharoah Sanders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Coltrane,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Associates,
Subhumans,
The Stooges,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
MDC,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Los Fastidios,
Rod Modell,
Marc Almond,
Ossler,
Porter Ricks,
Barry Ungar,
Lakeside,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Michelle Simonal,
Pantytec,
Skriet,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Slave,
Banda Bassotti,
The Mojo Men,
Gabor Szabo,
The Pretty Things,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Nils Olav,
Throbbing Gristle,
Magma,
Godley & Creme,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Beau Brummels,
Rosa Yemen,
Animal Collective,
Quadrant,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Trumans Water,
Spoonie Gee,
Massinfluence,
Freddie Wadling,
Can,
The Real Kids,
Idris Muhammad,
Crash Course in Science,
Vainqueur,
The Shadows of Knight,
Faust,
The Index,
Harry Pussy,
A Certain Ratio,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Flipper,
Sunsets and Hearts,
One Last Wish,
Scan 7,
Joey Negro,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sun City Girls,
Fad Gadget,
Matthew Bourne,
The Offenders,
Fatback Band,
Country Teasers, Country Teasers, Country Teasers, Country Teasers.
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.