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 Liberia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 chamberlin 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 Angry Samoans to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Ultravox. All the underground hits.
All Red Lorry Yellow Lorry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 clarinet and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oblivians record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pet Shop Boys,
the Fania All-Stars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ituana,
This Heat,
Moebius,
The Happenings,
The Offenders,
E-Dancer,
Groovy Waters,
Max Romeo,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Intrusion,
Traffic Nightmare,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Erasure,
The Residents,
LL Cool J,
Lakeside,
Warsaw,
Ronan,
Mad Mike,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Cowsills,
Sam Rivers,
the Sonics,
David Axelrod,
Malaria!,
Pagans,
Flamin' Groovies,
Scientists,
The Monochrome Set,
The Mojo Men,
Depeche Mode,
Roy Ayers,
New Age Steppers,
Infiniti,
The Blackbyrds,
Kurtis Blow,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Tubeway Army,
Deepchord,
MC5,
Technova,
Joe Finger,
Accadde A,
Janne Schatter,
Black Sheep,
The Red Krayola,
The Names,
Quantec,
Roxette,
Pylon,
In Retrospect,
Robert Wyatt,
Suicide,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Cal Tjader,
Talk Talk,
Cymande,
Country Teasers,
Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu.
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.