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 Samoa and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Crispian St. Peters to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Standells. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Wire,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Drexciya,
the Normal,
Sandy B,
Steve Hackett,
The Pretty Things,
Soft Machine,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Radiohead,
Harry Pussy,
Interpol,
The Offenders,
The Shadows of Knight,
Make Up,
Wolf Eyes,
The Seeds,
Saccharine Trust,
Von Mondo,
Agent Orange,
Gabor Szabo,
Shoche,
The Raincoats,
Kayak,
The United States of America,
Scientists,
The Wake,
The Barracudas,
Byron Stingily,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Rosa Yemen,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Yaz,
Chris Corsano,
The Gladiators,
Erykah Badu,
The Flesh Eaters,
Stiv Bators,
The Beau Brummels,
The Fuzztones,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Chrome,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Cecil Taylor,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Jeff Mills,
Ossler,
Young Marble Giants,
Circle Jerks,
Franke,
Sonny Sharrock,
Jesper Dahlback,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Grass Roots,
Desert Stars,
Tim Buckley,
Eli Mardock,
Pharoah Sanders,
Judy Mowatt,
KRS-One,
Marmalade,
Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus, Bauhaus.
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.