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 Bulgaria and from Johannesburg.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Lalo Schifrin 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 Adolescents. All the underground hits.
All Curtis Mayfield tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cybotron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Donald Byrd,
Barrington Levy,
Can,
Hoover,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Terry Callier,
Harry Pussy,
cv313,
John Foxx,
Marmalade,
Organ,
Graham Central Station,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Litter,
The Count Five,
David McCallum,
Charles Mingus,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Doobie Brothers,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Wolf Eyes,
Intrusion,
Gil Scott Heron,
Lou Reed,
The J.B.'s,
the Slits,
John Cale,
Scion,
Mission of Burma,
Matthew Halsall,
The Star Department,
Zapp,
The Golliwogs,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Spoonie Gee,
The Misunderstood,
Ludus,
Accadde A,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Hot Snakes,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Seeds,
UT,
Television,
The Buckinghams,
The Smoke,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Zeros,
The Sound,
Wire,
Au Pairs,
Pussy Galore,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Fuzztones,
Nick Fraelich,
Nation of Ulysses,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
John Holt,
The Knickerbockers,
Lindisfarne,
Agent Orange, Agent Orange, Agent Orange, Agent Orange.
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.