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 Iraq and from Copenhagen.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the guitar 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 Fort Wilson Riot to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Bootsy Collins. All the underground hits.
All Sugar Minott tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter and Kerry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Graham Central Station,
Mandrill,
X-Ray Spex,
John Coltrane,
Joey Negro,
Index,
Amon Düül II,
Skaos,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
T. Rex,
Gastr Del Sol,
Surgeon,
The Moody Blues,
Little Man,
Tom Boy,
The Victims,
Jandek,
Sex Pistols,
Shuggie Otis,
Crooked Eye,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Zeros,
Drive Like Jehu,
Rod Modell,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Move,
Theoretical Girls,
Blossom Toes,
China Crisis,
Wolf Eyes,
Spoonie Gee,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Sound Behaviour,
Letta Mbulu,
Aaron Thompson,
Symarip,
Ultimate Spinach,
Anakelly,
Frankie Knuckles,
Shoche,
The Stooges,
Amazonics,
The Divine Comedy,
The American Breed,
Todd Terry,
The Motions,
Dark Day,
Ultravox,
One Last Wish,
The Alarm Clocks,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Deepchord,
Danielle Patucci,
The Sonics,
Ken Boothe,
Traffic Nightmare,
Los Fastidios,
Das Ding,
Kurtis Blow,
The Fall,
The Fire Engines,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.