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 Kazakhstan and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 harpsichord 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 Jesper Dahlback to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All The Invisible tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Model 500 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cal Tjader record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Move,
The Skatalites,
Minny Pops,
Hoover,
Matthew Bourne,
Moby Grape,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Simply Red,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Cramps,
Jawbox,
Patti Smith,
Fad Gadget,
Avey Tare,
The Saints,
The Black Dice,
Slave,
Robert Görl,
Brass Construction,
Nico,
Groovy Waters,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Duran Duran,
Bronski Beat,
the Fania All-Stars,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Fear,
Althea and Donna,
Minor Threat,
Unrelated Segments,
Flipper,
Babytalk,
Barry Ungar,
Barbara Tucker,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Blackbyrds,
L. Decosne,
The Fall,
Liliput,
Icehouse,
The Litter,
Pet Shop Boys,
Suicide,
Gastr Del Sol,
Davy DMX,
Leonard Cohen,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Gories,
Marcia Griffiths,
Marvin Gaye,
Traffic Nightmare,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Sonics,
Loose Ends,
Don Cherry,
Ronan,
LL Cool J,
Con Funk Shun,
Interpol,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed.
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.