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 Croatia and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the clarinet 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 David Axelrod to the rap 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 Rod Modell. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gichy Dan 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?
Terrestrial Tones,
Tim Buckley,
The Five Americans,
Dead Boys,
The Flesh Eaters,
Youth Brigade,
Ornette Coleman,
the Germs,
Alton Ellis,
Skriet,
Bang On A Can,
Buzzcocks,
Suicide,
Cybotron,
Pere Ubu,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Doobie Brothers,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Swans,
The Happenings,
Barbara Tucker,
Fela Kuti,
Harry Pussy,
John Foxx,
June of 44,
R.M.O.,
The Leaves,
Sound Behaviour,
the Normal,
Crispian St. Peters,
Maleditus Sound,
Todd Rundgren,
Y Pants,
Ken Boothe,
the Slits,
Kayak,
H. Thieme,
T. Rex,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
A Certain Ratio,
X-Ray Spex,
Technova,
The Black Dice,
Connie Case,
Crooked Eye,
Lucky Dragons,
EPMD,
Eric B and Rakim,
Fatback Band,
Chris Corsano,
The Cure,
Supertramp,
Stetsasonic,
Lou Christie,
The Velvet Underground,
The Tremeloes,
Carl Craig,
Bad Manners,
The Index,
Blake Baxter,
Lungfish,
Sarah Menescal,
Arab on Radar,
Dorothy Ashby,
Gian Franco Pienzio, Gian Franco Pienzio, Gian Franco Pienzio, Gian Franco Pienzio.
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.