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 Tonga and from Mumbai.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the 808 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 Jacques Brel to the techno 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 E-Dancer. All the underground hits.
All Ossler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terrestrial Tones 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kerrie Biddell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lyres,
Buzzcocks,
The Beau Brummels,
The Monks,
The Fall,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Dual Sessions,
Circle Jerks,
Gang Gang Dance,
the Fania All-Stars,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Funkadelic,
Country Teasers,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Raincoats,
Tubeway Army,
The Flesh Eaters,
Marine Girls,
Wolf Eyes,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Divine Comedy,
Judy Mowatt,
Piero Umiliani,
Terry Callier,
Connie Case,
The Evens,
Hashim,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Goldenarms,
Stiv Bators,
The Pretty Things,
Don Cherry,
Jandek,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Star Department,
Deepchord,
Flipper,
The Trojans,
In Retrospect,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Leaves,
Altered Images,
Gregory Isaacs,
Oblivians,
Godley & Creme,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Magma,
Television Personalities,
The Busters,
Outsiders,
The Saints,
Graham Central Station,
Eric B and Rakim,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Lalann,
Skaos,
Morten Harket,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.