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 Tanzania and from Cairo.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Godley & Creme to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Leonard Cohen. All the underground hits.
All Nik Kershaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Easy Going 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sällskapet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Letta Mbulu,
Glenn Branca,
Adolescents,
The Move,
Crooked Eye,
the Germs,
Amon Düül II,
Ludus,
Scott Walker,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Human League,
The Dirtbombs,
The Offenders,
Tubeway Army,
The J.B.'s,
Reagan Youth,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Interpol,
Black Moon,
The Zeros,
Ice-T,
Fela Kuti,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Deadbeat,
Sparks,
Moby Grape,
The Barracudas,
Bobby Byrd,
Stetsasonic,
B.T. Express,
The Associates,
Cheater Slicks,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Vladislav Delay,
The Electric Prunes,
The Index,
Sällskapet,
Pere Ubu,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Young Marble Giants,
Arcadia,
Agent Orange,
Bob Dylan,
Clear Light,
Soft Machine,
The Blues Magoos,
Lalann,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Audionom,
Bobby Sherman,
Kayak,
Warsaw,
Ossler,
Ultimate Spinach,
Lalo Schifrin,
Sister Nancy,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Spandau Ballet,
Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco.
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.