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 Chad and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 harpsichord 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 John Lydon to the funk 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 Brand Nubian. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor 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 punk 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 harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets 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?
The Slackers,
Crash Course in Science,
Bobby Womack,
Banda Bassotti,
Guru Guru,
Nico,
Angry Samoans,
Rapeman,
Gerry Rafferty,
Janne Schatter,
Kurtis Blow,
Bootsy Collins,
Tubeway Army,
Rites of Spring,
Iggy Pop,
Slick Rick,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Bill Near,
The Martian,
Supertramp,
Dawn Penn,
Television Personalities,
T. Rex,
Deepchord,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bush Tetras,
Robert Wyatt,
Howard Jones,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Glambeats Corp.,
Liliput,
Sound Behaviour,
Kerri Chandler,
New Order,
8 Eyed Spy,
Jerry's Kids,
The Modern Lovers,
The Monks,
The Litter,
K-Klass,
Easy Going,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
X-102,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Letta Mbulu,
Eric Copeland,
The Fuzztones,
The Last Poets,
Parry Music,
Flamin' Groovies,
Depeche Mode,
Shuggie Otis,
Yellowson,
The Human League,
The Raincoats,
Bad Manners,
Eric Dolphy,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Moleskins,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics.
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.