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 Panama and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 chamberlin 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 Cal Tjader to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Flipper. All the underground hits.
All The Busters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Black Dice record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pylon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Real Kids,
The Saints,
Fugazi,
Fat Boys,
The Fugs,
Jacques Brel,
Dual Sessions,
The Selecter,
Derrick May,
Aloha Tigers,
Bobby Sherman,
Lalann,
Qualms,
Panda Bear,
Main Source,
The Invisible,
Desert Stars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Dead C,
Grey Daturas,
The Buckinghams,
Aswad,
The Velvet Underground,
Black Bananas,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
L. Decosne,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Smiths,
Marvin Gaye,
This Heat,
Pussy Galore,
The Neon Judgement,
the Association,
Inner City,
Stiv Bators,
Altered Images,
Crime,
The Monks,
Subhumans,
Rosa Yemen,
Pharoah Sanders,
Underground Resistance,
F. McDonald,
Amon Düül II,
Symarip,
Throbbing Gristle,
Amazonics,
Jeru the Damaja,
Massinfluence,
Ronan,
David Axelrod,
Donald Byrd,
These Immortal Souls,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Slits,
Blossom Toes,
X-Ray Spex,
Cheater Slicks,
Cluster, Cluster, Cluster, Cluster.
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.