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 Togo and from Portland.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Alice Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Seeds 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ralphi Rosario record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Parrish,
Donny Hathaway,
Erykah Badu,
Lungfish,
The Searchers,
Brothers Johnson,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Zeros,
Howard Jones,
Matthew Bourne,
Sugar Minott,
Trumans Water,
Symarip,
Vladislav Delay,
Zapp,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Cowsills,
Animal Collective,
The Evens,
Severed Heads,
David McCallum,
Yaz,
Fad Gadget,
the Sonics,
Nick Fraelich,
The Last Poets,
Steve Hackett,
Maleditus Sound,
The Black Dice,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Buzzcocks,
John Coltrane,
Joe Finger,
The Red Krayola,
The Slackers,
Los Fastidios,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Misunderstood,
Monks,
The Moleskins,
David Bowie,
Mission of Burma,
OOIOO,
Ossler,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ponytail,
Rites of Spring,
Soul Sonic Force,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Amazonics,
The Slits,
Shoche,
Peter and Kerry,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Eve St. Jones,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Barclay James Harvest,
Max Romeo,
Ken Boothe, Ken Boothe, Ken Boothe, Ken Boothe.
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.