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 South Sudan and from Shanghai.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the 808 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 T.S.O.L. to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Wolf Eyes. All the underground hits.
All Yaz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David McCallum record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sisters of Mercy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cowsills,
Pulsallama,
Skarface,
Sex Pistols,
Ponytail,
Tres Demented,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Red Krayola,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Organ,
CMW,
Accadde A,
Moby Grape,
Jerry's Kids,
The Gun Club,
Liliput,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Black Bananas,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Todd Rundgren,
the Germs,
Mission of Burma,
cv313,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
E-Dancer,
Bobby Byrd,
DNA,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Franke,
Drexciya,
Crispy Ambulance,
the Bar-Kays,
Fat Boys,
Chrome,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Barrington Levy,
Altered Images,
Brass Construction,
Siglo XX,
The Standells,
Henry Cow,
The Mummies,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Tomorrow,
One Last Wish,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Carl Craig,
Rekid,
Black Sheep,
Brick,
The Slackers,
The Golliwogs,
Grauzone,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Misunderstood,
The Electric Prunes,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Amon Düül,
The Velvet Underground,
Marcia Griffiths,
Barry Ungar,
Reuben Wilson, Reuben Wilson, Reuben Wilson, Reuben Wilson.
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.