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 Egypt and from Philadelphia.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the sitar 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 The Motions to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Lonnie Liston Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David Axelrod record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sällskapet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Banda Bassotti,
Chrome,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Crispy Ambulance,
Lightning Bolt,
Wire,
Harry Pussy,
The Gun Club,
E-Dancer,
A Certain Ratio,
Blake Baxter,
The Five Americans,
Saccharine Trust,
Animal Collective,
Index,
Can,
Spoonie Gee,
The American Breed,
Bill Wells,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Bobby Womack,
Icehouse,
Brick,
Robert Wyatt,
Sun Ra,
The Modern Lovers,
Bobby Sherman,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
the Normal,
Junior Murvin,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Fortunes,
The Leaves,
Dave Gahan,
The Grass Roots,
Soft Cell,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Con Funk Shun,
The United States of America,
Delon & Dalcan,
Procol Harum,
Sex Pistols,
The Detroit Cobras,
Minny Pops,
Vladislav Delay,
Cal Tjader,
The Star Department,
Shoche,
Todd Terry,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Zapp,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Wally Richardson,
The Last Poets,
the Germs,
Jandek,
Malaria!,
Porter Ricks,
Man Eating Sloth,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Girls At Our Best!,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs.
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.