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 Vietnam and from Bologna.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Kerrie Biddell to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All In Retrospect tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Interpol record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cramps record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thee Headcoats,
Barbara Tucker,
These Immortal Souls,
8 Eyed Spy,
Ituana,
Amon Düül,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Can,
Bizarre Inc.,
Robert Wyatt,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Eddi Front,
Rekid,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Brothers Johnson,
Blossom Toes,
The Remains,
Severed Heads,
Chrome,
Supertramp,
The Tremeloes,
Pantytec,
Cybotron,
Con Funk Shun,
James White and The Blacks,
Rites of Spring,
Morten Harket,
Goldenarms,
Gang Starr,
The Fuzztones,
Eurythmics,
The Monks,
Dawn Penn,
X-Ray Spex,
Deakin,
Sarah Menescal,
The Dave Clark Five,
Aural Exciters,
Suicide,
The Evens,
Carl Craig,
Spandau Ballet,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Hashim,
Television,
EPMD,
The Seeds,
Lucky Dragons,
Bob Dylan,
Hardrive,
Frankie Knuckles,
Matthew Bourne,
the Sonics,
FM Einheit,
Piero Umiliani,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Moody Blues,
Gang Green,
Derrick May,
Joensuu 1685,
Tears for Fears,
Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon.
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.