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 Guinea and from Salvador.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Trojans to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Smoke. All the underground hits.
All Soft Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soul II Soul record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron 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 Invisible record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
The Modern Lovers,
Althea and Donna,
Theoretical Girls,
The Last Poets,
Don Cherry,
Hoover,
Excepter,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Fire Engines,
Flipper,
Blancmange,
Boz Scaggs,
The Buckinghams,
Oneida,
Scan 7,
Con Funk Shun,
Quantec,
Robert Wyatt,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Junior Murvin,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Nik Kershaw,
The Tremeloes,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Leonard Cohen,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Terrestrial Tones,
Youth Brigade,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Gun Club,
The Leaves,
The Angels of Light,
Pussy Galore,
One Last Wish,
Trumans Water,
Roxette,
The Selecter,
The Gladiators,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bob Dylan,
Cecil Taylor,
Neil Young,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ituana,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Porter Ricks,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Doors,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Gong,
OOIOO,
The American Breed,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Royal Trux,
Qualms,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.