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 Sudan and from Sao Paulo.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 harpsichord 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 Cymande to the dance 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 Von Mondo. All the underground hits.
All Teenage Jesus and the Jerks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pussy Galore record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 guitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a A Flock of Seagulls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Flipper,
Japan,
Goldenarms,
The Dirtbombs,
Wasted Youth,
Stockholm Monsters,
Funky Four + One,
Johnny Clarke,
Bobby Womack,
Nico,
Glambeats Corp.,
Bang On A Can,
Kurtis Blow,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Supertramp,
Amon Düül II,
Public Enemy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sarah Menescal,
Curtis Mayfield,
Intrusion,
The Buckinghams,
48th St. Collective,
Cybotron,
OOIOO,
cv313,
Talk Talk,
Blake Baxter,
Bill Near,
Pantytec,
kango's stein massive,
Juan Atkins,
H. Thieme,
Symarip,
Crime,
Bauhaus,
Model 500,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Procol Harum,
Davy DMX,
China Crisis,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Rufus Thomas,
Excepter,
Jimmy McGriff,
Robert Görl,
Michelle Simonal,
Letta Mbulu,
Johnny Osbourne,
Roxette,
Bad Manners,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Blackbyrds,
MC5,
Roger Hodgson,
The Skatalites,
The Golliwogs,
Pantaleimon,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.