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 Mexico and from Philadelphia.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Liaisons Dangereuses to the electroclash 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 June Days. All the underground hits.
All Young Marble Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lonnie Liston Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 a theremin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roy Ayers Ubiquity record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott Heron,
Dark Day,
Gang Green,
Gabor Szabo,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Altered Images,
Crispian St. Peters,
Black Pus,
Amon Düül II,
Make Up,
Howard Jones,
Lakeside,
Eli Mardock,
Lindisfarne,
The Stooges,
The Star Department,
Scan 7,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Wake,
Steve Hackett,
the Bar-Kays,
Radio Birdman,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Spandau Ballet,
Todd Rundgren,
Sexual Harrassment,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Deadbeat,
The Searchers,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Mojo Men,
T.S.O.L.,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Johnny Clarke,
The Smoke,
Harpers Bizarre,
Scratch Acid,
Joy Division,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
EPMD,
John Holt,
Nick Fraelich,
Infiniti,
Jacques Brel,
CMW,
Derrick May,
The Sound,
Pylon,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Khruangbin,
Morten Harket,
F. McDonald,
Terrestrial Tones,
Barbara Tucker,
Kurtis Blow,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Residents,
Fad Gadget,
Matthew Halsall,
Henry Cow,
the Human League,
Radiopuhelimet,
Crime, Crime, Crime, Crime.
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.