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 Ireland and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 marimba 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 Quantec to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All The Electric Prunes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Excepter record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 a mellotron and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Severed Heads record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marmalade,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Malaria!,
Sonny Sharrock,
Echospace,
Franke,
Lungfish,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Matthew Bourne,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Byron Stingily,
Yusef Lateef,
Liliput,
Alphaville,
Leonard Cohen,
Wasted Youth,
Das Ding,
The Cowsills,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Glambeats Corp.,
Pole,
The Gories,
Lou Christie,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Pylon,
Max Romeo,
the Soft Cell,
Howard Jones,
Wire,
Japan,
Gang Green,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Guru Guru,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lalann,
Scientists,
Harpers Bizarre,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Fuzztones,
Make Up,
Harmonia,
the Normal,
Swell Maps,
Oneida,
Don Cherry,
Roy Ayers,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Busters,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Derrick May,
The Monochrome Set,
The Grass Roots,
Nick Fraelich,
Gastr Del Sol,
James White and The Blacks,
Suburban Knight,
Pere Ubu,
Pussy Galore,
The Five Americans,
PIL,
Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna.
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.