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 Djibouti and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 organ 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 Aloha Tigers to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All Banda Bassotti tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerri Chandler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tears for Fears record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Associates,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Harry Pussy,
Blossom Toes,
Quando Quango,
Pharoah Sanders,
Black Sheep,
Cabaret Voltaire,
China Crisis,
Black Pus,
Fat Boys,
Von Mondo,
Scratch Acid,
Rhythm & Sound,
Rekid,
Faust,
Deakin,
Nirvana,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Unrelated Segments,
Sex Pistols,
Tropical Tobacco,
Janne Schatter,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Judy Mowatt,
The Wake,
Tommy Roe,
Lou Christie,
Pole,
Aural Exciters,
Rakim,
Radio Birdman,
John Holt,
Altered Images,
Jesper Dahlback,
Electric Prunes,
Moby Grape,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Roxy Music,
Colin Newman,
Amazonics,
The Names,
Howard Jones,
Bill Near,
H. Thieme,
New York Dolls,
Lou Reed,
Smog,
Mission of Burma,
Gong,
Leonard Cohen,
Gregory Isaacs,
Sarah Menescal,
Youth Brigade,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Lower 48,
Barbara Tucker,
The Move,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Niagra,
the Slits, the Slits, the Slits, the Slits.
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.