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 Macedonia and from Stockholm.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Matthew Halsall to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Young Marble Giants. All the underground hits.
All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Circle Jerks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Altered Images record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Gichy Dan,
The Detroit Cobras,
Subhumans,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Jeru the Damaja,
Clear Light,
Sixth Finger,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Severed Heads,
Tres Demented,
Brick,
Smog,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Names,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Nico,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Mummies,
X-101,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Terry Callier,
Dorothy Ashby,
Newcleus,
The Beau Brummels,
Public Enemy,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Derrick Morgan,
Fear,
Pagans,
Bang On A Can,
The Red Krayola,
Swell Maps,
The Neon Judgement,
Kevin Saunderson,
Dark Day,
Procol Harum,
Warren Ellis,
Rosa Yemen,
Pussy Galore,
Crooked Eye,
The Busters,
The Birthday Party,
Todd Rundgren,
Wally Richardson,
Icehouse,
Graham Central Station,
Delon & Dalcan,
Gabor Szabo,
the Swans,
The J.B.'s,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Saccharine Trust,
Rod Modell,
L. Decosne,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Evens,
Niagra,
Mars,
The Real Kids,
The Alarm Clocks,
Matthew Bourne,
The Grass Roots, The Grass Roots, The Grass Roots, The Grass Roots.
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.