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 Mozambique and from Bologna.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Winnipeg.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Kool G Rap & DJ Polo to the jazz 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 Dawn Penn. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Con Funk Shun record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Bar-Kays record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mojo Men,
The Tremeloes,
ABBA,
Jandek,
Brothers Johnson,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Siglo XX,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Anakelly,
Dark Day,
Scratch Acid,
The Victims,
Lightning Bolt,
Tres Demented,
Black Bananas,
Nas,
The Associates,
Con Funk Shun,
Don Cherry,
Sonic Youth,
a-ha,
The Cowsills,
Severed Heads,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kool Moe Dee,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Little Man,
The New Christs,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Connie Case,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Amazonics,
The J.B.'s,
Donald Byrd,
Shoche,
Lucky Dragons,
Mantronix,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Infiniti,
KRS-One,
David Axelrod,
Ronnie Foster,
Letta Mbulu,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Adolescents,
Mr. Review,
CMW,
the Human League,
Au Pairs,
Public Enemy,
The Dead C,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Black Flag,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Tomorrow,
Kurtis Blow,
Theoretical Girls,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.