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 Micronesia and from Spokane.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 London Community Gospel Choir to the crunk 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 Gang Starr. All the underground hits.
All Sun Ra Arkestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
The Black Dice,
Camberwell Now,
Delon & Dalcan,
Bobby Byrd,
Amon Düül II,
Mad Mike,
Funkadelic,
Depeche Mode,
The Birthday Party,
CMW,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Terry Callier,
FM Einheit,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Iggy Pop,
The Moody Blues,
Pet Shop Boys,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Pagans,
Maleditus Sound,
Heaven 17,
Theoretical Girls,
D'Angelo,
Popol Vuh,
T. Rex,
The Pretty Things,
Tropical Tobacco,
World's Most,
Faraquet,
Ultimate Spinach,
Traffic Nightmare,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Golliwogs,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The American Breed,
Animal Collective,
Robert Hood,
H. Thieme,
In Retrospect,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Aural Exciters,
Joyce Sims,
the Bar-Kays,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Clear Light,
Ronnie Foster,
Hasil Adkins,
Grandmaster Flash,
Buzzcocks,
The Happenings,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Sparks,
Howard Jones,
The Fire Engines,
The Evens,
Hashim,
The Gun Club,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Names,
Jeru the Damaja,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.