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 Tuvalu and from Madrid.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 chamberlin 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 The Selecter to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gories record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
Quando Quango,
Ten City,
Deakin,
Lou Christie,
Porter Ricks,
Rosa Yemen,
The Beau Brummels,
Frankie Knuckles,
Saccharine Trust,
Infiniti,
Buzzcocks,
Mantronix,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sandy B,
Fela Kuti,
Bizarre Inc.,
Flash Fearless,
K-Klass,
Henry Cow,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Amon Düül,
Bauhaus,
Man Parrish,
Lakeside,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gastr Del Sol,
Chrome,
Basic Channel,
Lightning Bolt,
The Misunderstood,
Nick Fraelich,
Deadbeat,
Albert Ayler,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Moebius,
Marmalade,
Pierre Henry,
Matthew Bourne,
The Red Krayola,
Circle Jerks,
The Smoke,
Isaac Hayes,
Second Layer,
Jawbox,
Country Joe & The Fish,
MDC,
Kool Moe Dee,
Ornette Coleman,
Liliput,
Nation of Ulysses,
Aural Exciters,
Dead Boys,
Zero Boys,
Wire,
Fluxion,
Wings,
The Durutti Column,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.