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 Indonesia and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Names to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All Siglo XX tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Techniques record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
Buzzcocks,
Massinfluence,
Spoonie Gee,
Model 500,
The Sound,
Anthony Braxton,
The Durutti Column,
The Gladiators,
PIL,
Cybotron,
Technova,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Techniques,
The Walker Brothers,
Agent Orange,
The Martian,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Count Five,
Negative Approach,
Joey Negro,
The Human League,
James White and The Blacks,
Oblivians,
Curtis Mayfield,
Gabor Szabo,
Wings,
Donald Byrd,
kango's stein massive,
Whodini,
The Star Department,
Fat Boys,
Stereo Dub,
Peter & Gordon,
Don Cherry,
Nation of Ulysses,
Lower 48,
Pet Shop Boys,
Symarip,
D'Angelo,
Brand Nubian,
Crime,
Jeff Mills,
The Litter,
The Happenings,
Yellowson,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sight & Sound,
Darondo,
Joy Division,
Basic Channel,
Bobby Byrd,
DJ Style,
Marvin Gaye,
Minnie Riperton,
Harmonia,
Chris Corsano,
Faraquet,
Ludus,
Moss Icon,
The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter.
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.