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 Cape Verde and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Aswad to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Barry Ungar. All the underground hits.
All Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Monochrome Set,
Smog,
Ultravox,
Robert Görl,
Public Enemy,
Swell Maps,
OOIOO,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Flamin' Groovies,
Unwound,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
the Sonics,
Babytalk,
The Invisible,
Quadrant,
Erykah Badu,
John Coltrane,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Anakelly,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Happenings,
Black Flag,
the Slits,
R.M.O.,
U.S. Maple,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Essential Logic,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Bill Near,
Marc Almond,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Sugar Minott,
The Smoke,
Mr. Review,
Ornette Coleman,
Joe Finger,
Chrome,
Godley & Creme,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Zero Boys,
Ronnie Foster,
John Holt,
Prince Buster,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Fad Gadget,
Altered Images,
Max Romeo,
Bootsy Collins,
Kaleidoscope,
Q and Not U,
Peter & Gordon,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Radiopuhelimet,
Spoonie Gee,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Ice-T,
Procol Harum,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
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.