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 Pakistan and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Suicide. All the underground hits.
All The Birthday Party tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soul Sonic Force record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Eating Sloth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Star Department,
ABBA,
The Victims,
Scott Walker,
The Leaves,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
the Swans,
David McCallum,
Ice-T,
The Beau Brummels,
Connie Case,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
John Foxx,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Fortunes,
Derrick Morgan,
the Germs,
Neu!,
Deadbeat,
Eurythmics,
Procol Harum,
Peter and Kerry,
Cheater Slicks,
Arthur Verocai,
Kaleidoscope,
Andrew Hill,
Niagra,
Lindisfarne,
Kerrie Biddell,
Buzzcocks,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Interpol,
Malaria!,
Moby Grape,
Slick Rick,
MDC,
The Cowsills,
Davy DMX,
Glenn Branca,
Symarip,
Juan Atkins,
Spandau Ballet,
Lightning Bolt,
Monks,
The Electric Prunes,
Qualms,
Con Funk Shun,
Pulsallama,
Judy Mowatt,
Cameo,
Black Bananas,
The Sound,
Kool Moe Dee,
Flamin' Groovies,
Neil Young,
Jawbox,
The Move,
Parry Music,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Tears for Fears,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith.
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.