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 Monaco and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock 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 Cameo. All the underground hits.
All This Heat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oppenheimer Analysis 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tears for Fears,
John Coltrane,
Severed Heads,
Pere Ubu,
The Fall,
Panda Bear,
Delon & Dalcan,
Stockholm Monsters,
Interpol,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Detroit Cobras,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Barry Ungar,
Make Up,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Saints,
Derrick May,
Symarip,
The Divine Comedy,
New York Dolls,
The Count Five,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Names,
Minutemen,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Icehouse,
Eric Dolphy,
Delta 5,
Television Personalities,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Ten City,
Wings,
The Human League,
The Fugs,
Black Sheep,
Barclay James Harvest,
Crash Course in Science,
Hoover,
Zero Boys,
A Certain Ratio,
Negative Approach,
Suicide,
Roy Ayers,
Eric B and Rakim,
Cybotron,
Angry Samoans,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Soft Cell,
Don Cherry,
Babytalk,
The Sonics,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Vainqueur,
The Busters,
Erykah Badu,
Adolescents,
Scientists,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Glambeats Corp.,
Qualms, Qualms, Qualms, Qualms.
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.