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 Chad and from Mumbai.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Sao Paulo.
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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme to the electroclash 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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All Fad Gadget tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hoover 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a One Last Wish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultravox,
The Young Rascals,
Q and Not U,
Spoonie Gee,
Brothers Johnson,
Kayak,
Patti Smith,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Sam Rivers,
Scrapy,
John Coltrane,
Bauhaus,
Mars,
Morten Harket,
Warsaw,
8 Eyed Spy,
Icehouse,
Barclay James Harvest,
Jerry's Kids,
Youth Brigade,
KRS-One,
Connie Case,
Zero Boys,
Boredoms,
These Immortal Souls,
The Modern Lovers,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Blues Magoos,
Cal Tjader,
Black Bananas,
Spandau Ballet,
Section 25,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Chris Corsano,
The Misunderstood,
The Sonics,
Grauzone,
The Slits,
Slick Rick,
David Bowie,
The American Breed,
Michelle Simonal,
Clear Light,
U.S. Maple,
Skriet,
Althea and Donna,
Aaron Thompson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Circle Jerks,
Angry Samoans,
Franke,
Throbbing Gristle,
Crime,
The Names,
Sugar Minott,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
FM Einheit,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
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.