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 Lebanon and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 Lille and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 güiro 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 Erykah Badu to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All The Blackbyrds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ajijia Myrayebe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
Moby Grape,
Pet Shop Boys,
Black Moon,
The Five Americans,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Alphaville,
The Moleskins,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Eve St. Jones,
The Zeros,
Schoolly D,
Derrick Morgan,
The Techniques,
The Dirtbombs,
Terrestrial Tones,
Tomorrow,
AZ,
Silicon Teens,
Mars,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Lightning Bolt,
Lungfish,
The Mummies,
Pierre Henry,
Johnny Osbourne,
Oneida,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Monks,
The Moody Blues,
Japan,
The Mojo Men,
Los Fastidios,
OOIOO,
Skriet,
Joy Division,
Crime,
Mo-Dettes,
Skarface,
the Germs,
Sixth Finger,
Gang Starr,
Pagans,
Ossler,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Lindisfarne,
Byron Stingily,
Ken Boothe,
The Fugs,
Hoover,
Heaven 17,
Kenny Larkin,
Unwound,
The Index,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Prince Buster,
Gerry Rafferty,
Basic Channel,
The Red Krayola,
Agent Orange, Agent Orange, Agent Orange, Agent Orange.
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.