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 Latvia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Franke. All the underground hits.
All Kerri Chandler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Spoonie Gee record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minny Pops,
the Fania All-Stars,
Electric Prunes,
Matthew Bourne,
the Sonics,
Bob Dylan,
Skriet,
Jawbox,
The Electric Prunes,
The Mummies,
David Axelrod,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Arthur Verocai,
Slave,
Rod Modell,
Smog,
The Black Dice,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Tommy Roe,
The Cure,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Mission of Burma,
Echospace,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Theoretical Girls,
World's Most,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Five Americans,
Essential Logic,
Sun City Girls,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Beau Brummels,
The American Breed,
The Cowsills,
The Grass Roots,
Man Parrish,
Cal Tjader,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Second Layer,
Roxy Music,
Television,
Basic Channel,
UT,
Mo-Dettes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
In Retrospect,
Soul II Soul,
Mr. Review,
T. Rex,
Hashim,
Heaven 17,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Wally Richardson,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
La Düsseldorf,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Fall,
Magma,
Rosa Yemen,
Motorama,
Negative Approach,
Pulsallama,
Chrome, Chrome, Chrome, Chrome.
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.