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 Honduras and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 harpsichord 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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sun Ra. All the underground hits.
All Pierre Henry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Near 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fifty Foot Hose,
Oblivians,
The Move,
Pulsallama,
Malaria!,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Freddie Wadling,
Todd Terry,
The Grass Roots,
Eli Mardock,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Traffic Nightmare,
Mo-Dettes,
World's Most,
Junior Murvin,
The Remains,
The Gap Band,
the Bar-Kays,
the Normal,
The Gun Club,
Iggy Pop,
The Cure,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Ice-T,
Rosa Yemen,
Skriet,
Yazoo,
Mr. Review,
Soulsonic Force,
Magazine,
Inner City,
Grandmaster Flash,
Technova,
Hasil Adkins,
Duran Duran,
Drive Like Jehu,
Matthew Bourne,
Bang On A Can,
The Last Poets,
The Dirtbombs,
Black Sheep,
Lower 48,
The Seeds,
Harmonia,
The Martian,
Gang Green,
John Coltrane,
The Doors,
Blake Baxter,
Hashim,
Pole,
Funkadelic,
Ossler,
The Happenings,
Silicon Teens,
Black Flag,
Babytalk,
Alphaville,
The Smiths,
the Sonics,
Howard Jones,
Grey Daturas,
Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks.
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.