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 Bulgaria and from Columbus.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Amazonics to the disco 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 Scientists. All the underground hits.
All Cal Tjader tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tres Demented 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Khruangbin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Drive Like Jehu,
Throbbing Gristle,
Ultimate Spinach,
Underground Resistance,
Wings,
Cybotron,
Spoonie Gee,
Clear Light,
Yazoo,
Marc Almond,
Mission of Burma,
X-102,
Albert Ayler,
John Lydon,
Chrome,
Juan Atkins,
the Sonics,
Lyres,
Roy Ayers,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The American Breed,
Minnie Riperton,
Delon & Dalcan,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Selecter,
A Certain Ratio,
Radiopuhelimet,
Hardrive,
The Five Americans,
Scratch Acid,
Ten City,
E-Dancer,
Ossler,
T.S.O.L.,
Subhumans,
The Velvet Underground,
Siglo XX,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Yusef Lateef,
Lou Christie,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Metal Thangz,
Fad Gadget,
The Red Krayola,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
48th St. Collective,
Rufus Thomas,
Erykah Badu,
Rosa Yemen,
The Moleskins,
Model 500,
Crime,
DNA,
Traffic Nightmare,
Archie Shepp,
The Residents,
the Association,
Anthony Braxton,
Grey Daturas,
Accadde A,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.