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 Austria and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Fatback Band to the disco 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. All the underground hits.
All Sun City Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Don Cherry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dead Boys,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Outsiders,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Archie Shepp,
A Flock of Seagulls,
MDC,
The Buckinghams,
Kayak,
June of 44,
Rites of Spring,
Man Eating Sloth,
Crispy Ambulance,
Mo-Dettes,
Youth Brigade,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Raincoats,
Parry Music,
Henry Cow,
Joe Smooth,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Evens,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Techniques,
Surgeon,
Cluster,
Erasure,
Black Sheep,
Reagan Youth,
ABC,
Ultra Naté,
The Smiths,
Fatback Band,
The Walker Brothers,
Flash Fearless,
The Shadows of Knight,
the Human League,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Modern Lovers,
Soul II Soul,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Searchers,
Crime,
The Five Americans,
Sam Rivers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Tim Buckley,
Laurel Aitken,
Bobby Byrd,
Rosa Yemen,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Stiv Bators,
James Chance & The Contortions,
E-Dancer,
Spandau Ballet,
These Immortal Souls,
Tom Boy,
Scrapy,
Supertramp,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.