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 Guinea-Bissau and from Lyon.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Easy Going to the punk 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 Donny Hathaway. All the underground hits.
All The Flesh Eaters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every La Düsseldorf record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mission of Burma record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Au Pairs,
Maleditus Sound,
Organ,
New York Dolls,
The Dirtbombs,
Camberwell Now,
Arcadia,
The Black Dice,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Cowsills,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Metal Thangz,
the Bar-Kays,
Moebius,
Aural Exciters,
Dorothy Ashby,
Technova,
Harry Pussy,
Bizarre Inc.,
Arab on Radar,
The Sound,
Deakin,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Ronnie Foster,
Pole,
Graham Central Station,
Robert Görl,
Marshall Jefferson,
Nils Olav,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Rosa Yemen,
The J.B.'s,
Babytalk,
The Electric Prunes,
The Seeds,
The Gladiators,
Yusef Lateef,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Leaves,
The Durutti Column,
Qualms,
The Gories,
Brass Construction,
Bob Dylan,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Raincoats,
Lebanon Hanover,
Crime,
Suburban Knight,
Schoolly D,
Todd Terry,
Q65,
The Busters,
48th St. Collective,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Sun Ra,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Bill Wells,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Cal Tjader,
Isaac Hayes,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.