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 Uganda and from Bologna.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the oboe 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 Mo-Dettes to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Banda Bassotti. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Halsall tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Techniques record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Strawberry Alarm Clock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Los Fastidios,
Easy Going,
Anakelly,
The Blues Magoos,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Marvin Gaye,
Andrew Hill,
Reuben Wilson,
Tears for Fears,
Youth Brigade,
the Normal,
Nils Olav,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Shuggie Otis,
Blancmange,
Deadbeat,
La Düsseldorf,
Harry Pussy,
The Cure,
Oneida,
Kerri Chandler,
Stiv Bators,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Remains,
Bobby Sherman,
Aswad,
Clear Light,
David Bowie,
Minutemen,
Althea and Donna,
Donny Hathaway,
Gang Starr,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Jacques Brel,
Talk Talk,
Gil Scott Heron,
Slick Rick,
Subhumans,
Fat Boys,
Trumans Water,
John Cale,
the Bar-Kays,
Thompson Twins,
Lee Hazlewood,
Sight & Sound,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Sugar Minott,
Grauzone,
H. Thieme,
Junior Murvin,
Y Pants,
Slave,
DJ Style,
Interpol,
Panda Bear,
Tres Demented,
Brick,
Morten Harket,
the Soft Cell,
Gichy Dan,
The Dead C,
The Monochrome Set,
James White and The Blacks,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.