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 Greece and from Mexico City.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Los Fastidios to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All Ultimate Spinach tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flamin' Groovies record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Young Rascals record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord 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?
Wally Richardson,
the Association,
Big Daddy Kane,
Terry Callier,
Marc Almond,
Sexual Harrassment,
Davy DMX,
Gerry Rafferty,
Guru Guru,
Symarip,
Motorama,
the Normal,
Depeche Mode,
Eden Ahbez,
Pylon,
The Last Poets,
Cecil Taylor,
Mars,
Ponytail,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Nas,
Q65,
Soft Cell,
The Smiths,
The Invisible,
Sight & Sound,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Camberwell Now,
Mantronix,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Young Marble Giants,
Pierre Henry,
Hardrive,
Mo-Dettes,
June Days,
Jandek,
Inner City,
Hashim,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lucky Dragons,
The Gun Club,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Litter,
PIL,
Hot Snakes,
Reagan Youth,
Slick Rick,
Bronski Beat,
Vladislav Delay,
Bauhaus,
Jeff Mills,
T. Rex,
Suicide,
Barry Ungar,
Brick,
Jeru the Damaja,
Lou Christie,
Pole,
Sun Ra,
Juan Atkins,
Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel.
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.