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 Somalia and from Tokyo.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Wolf Eyes to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 The Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 a clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Yusef Lateef,
The Doors,
Scratch Acid,
Hoover,
Arthur Verocai,
Subhumans,
Drive Like Jehu,
X-102,
Funkadelic,
the Bar-Kays,
Procol Harum,
Khruangbin,
Sarah Menescal,
Roxette,
Suburban Knight,
Jeff Lynne,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bob Dylan,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Nation of Ulysses,
Fat Boys,
Severed Heads,
Half Japanese,
Rod Modell,
Donny Hathaway,
Wire,
The J.B.'s,
Soft Cell,
Marc Almond,
The Knickerbockers,
Negative Approach,
The Busters,
The Tremeloes,
Carl Craig,
Black Bananas,
Los Fastidios,
Johnny Clarke,
Crispian St. Peters,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Raincoats,
Flamin' Groovies,
Bobby Sherman,
Camberwell Now,
Danielle Patucci,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Porter Ricks,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Chris & Cosey,
Marcia Griffiths,
Godley & Creme,
Be Bop Deluxe,
UT,
Mr. Review,
Visage,
Grey Daturas,
8 Eyed Spy,
Neil Young, Neil Young, Neil Young, Neil Young.
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.