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 San Marino and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Lower 48 to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Harry Pussy. All the underground hits.
All Maurizio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Idris Muhammad 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June Days,
The Vogues,
Charles Mingus,
The Saints,
Eric B and Rakim,
Roger Hodgson,
Sex Pistols,
The Victims,
Man Eating Sloth,
Rod Modell,
Yusef Lateef,
Ultimate Spinach,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Motions,
The Monochrome Set,
The Busters,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Buckinghams,
Wire,
Eden Ahbez,
Jerry's Kids,
The Fire Engines,
Malaria!,
The Cowsills,
New York Dolls,
The Dave Clark Five,
Gang of Four,
Black Moon,
Jesper Dahlback,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Joe Smooth,
Talk Talk,
Kenny Larkin,
Theoretical Girls,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Lucky Dragons,
Q and Not U,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
A Certain Ratio,
The Birthday Party,
Model 500,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Groovy Waters,
Man Parrish,
Hasil Adkins,
Alphaville,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Alarm Clocks,
Arthur Verocai,
Pharoah Sanders,
Peter & Gordon,
Fugazi,
Panda Bear,
the Fania All-Stars,
Monks,
Bobby Sherman,
Tommy Roe,
Robert Görl,
The Searchers,
U.S. Maple,
The Martian,
Television Personalities,
World's Most,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.