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 Ireland and from Tehran.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Johnny Clarke to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Ash Ra Tempel. All the underground hits.
All The Cure tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terry Callier record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tropical Tobacco,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ohio Players,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Unrelated Segments,
L. Decosne,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sight & Sound,
Lungfish,
The Velvet Underground,
Stetsasonic,
Grauzone,
Young Marble Giants,
Flamin' Groovies,
Leonard Cohen,
Lalo Schifrin,
Yellowson,
Harmonia,
Marmalade,
Marcia Griffiths,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Gil Scott Heron,
Jeff Mills,
Lakeside,
The Moody Blues,
MDC,
The Tremeloes,
Guru Guru,
Slick Rick,
Loose Ends,
Glenn Branca,
The Stooges,
Roy Ayers,
The Fortunes,
The Move,
Donny Hathaway,
Lindisfarne,
Harpers Bizarre,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Gregory Isaacs,
KRS-One,
Infiniti,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Warsaw,
Sound Behaviour,
Black Pus,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Theoretical Girls,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Barracudas,
The Mojo Men,
The Fire Engines,
Alice Coltrane,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Litter,
the Fania All-Stars,
Fugazi,
DJ Sneak,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.