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 Brazil and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Sarah Menescal to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Suburban Knight. All the underground hits.
All Magazine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pussy Galore record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sly & The Family Stone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cal Tjader,
Reagan Youth,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Gastr Del Sol,
Royal Trux,
Bobby Womack,
Juan Atkins,
Goldenarms,
Little Man,
Section 25,
Skaos,
Gong,
John Cale,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Aaron Thompson,
Vainqueur,
Crime,
The Moody Blues,
Angry Samoans,
Eden Ahbez,
The Standells,
Essential Logic,
Hoover,
Sexual Harrassment,
Roxy Music,
Thee Headcoats,
Marc Almond,
Johnny Osbourne,
Joe Smooth,
Adolescents,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Livin' Joy,
Jeff Mills,
Ultravox,
The Stooges,
DNA,
Parry Music,
Freddie Wadling,
Nation of Ulysses,
Clear Light,
Subhumans,
Bronski Beat,
The Seeds,
Fad Gadget,
Sixth Finger,
Black Bananas,
Robert Hood,
John Coltrane,
The Wake,
Drive Like Jehu,
Morten Harket,
Masters at Work,
Vladislav Delay,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Hashim,
Kaleidoscope,
Slave,
Sound Behaviour,
Arab on Radar,
Ornette Coleman,
Television, Television, Television, Television.
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.