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 France and from Seoul.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Liliput to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Golliwogs. All the underground hits.
All Lebanon Hanover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cal Tjader record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Standells,
Roxette,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Fugs,
Ronnie Foster,
Mars,
Soulsonic Force,
Tim Buckley,
Unwound,
The Monks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Andrew Hill,
Ten City,
Popol Vuh,
Marvin Gaye,
B.T. Express,
Schoolly D,
Gang Green,
Pierre Henry,
The Victims,
EPMD,
The Martian,
Black Bananas,
Rotary Connection,
The Vogues,
Slave,
Bill Wells,
the Slits,
Radiohead,
the Fania All-Stars,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Gladiators,
The Walker Brothers,
Thee Headcoats,
Bob Dylan,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Cymande,
Franke,
The Red Krayola,
8 Eyed Spy,
Drive Like Jehu,
Magma,
H. Thieme,
the Normal,
Ohio Players,
Sarah Menescal,
Janne Schatter,
Aaron Thompson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Oblivians,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Aural Exciters,
Cluster,
Matthew Halsall,
Brand Nubian,
The Flesh Eaters,
T.S.O.L.,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Negative Approach,
Girls At Our Best!,
Prince Buster,
Gichy Dan,
Crispy Ambulance,
Mark Hollis, Mark Hollis, Mark Hollis, Mark Hollis.
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.