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 Papua New Guinea and from Johannesburg.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 linndrum 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 Q65 to the techno 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 ABBA. All the underground hits.
All Notorious Big And Bone Thugs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marshall Jefferson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Model 500 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Crispy Ambulance,
Donny Hathaway,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pagans,
Sarah Menescal,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Main Source,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Slackers,
Heaven 17,
Can,
Scrapy,
The Index,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Ultravox,
David Bowie,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sun City Girls,
Reagan Youth,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Absolute Body Control,
Nik Kershaw,
Sound Behaviour,
The Fugs,
The Fall,
Frankie Knuckles,
Soul II Soul,
Chris & Cosey,
Severed Heads,
Alphaville,
Gang Green,
Pantytec,
Rapeman,
K-Klass,
Throbbing Gristle,
Barclay James Harvest,
Negative Approach,
U.S. Maple,
Johnny Clarke,
Desert Stars,
The Toasters,
June Days,
The Electric Prunes,
Ronan,
8 Eyed Spy,
Swell Maps,
Graham Central Station,
The Count Five,
Bauhaus,
The Seeds,
The Slits,
The Moody Blues,
Joe Finger,
Crooked Eye,
John Coltrane,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Modern Lovers,
Kurtis Blow,
Qualms,
Index,
Sister Nancy,
Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon.
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.