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 Zambia and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Boredoms to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Sunsets and Hearts tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sound Behaviour record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kurtis Blow 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?
Oblivians,
Cybotron,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Jerry's Kids,
Jeff Mills,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
OOIOO,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Pantytec,
Robert Hood,
X-Ray Spex,
Malaria!,
Deakin,
The Happenings,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Blancmange,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Gang Starr,
The Black Dice,
Grauzone,
The Red Krayola,
Alton Ellis,
Fatback Band,
The Flesh Eaters,
Visage,
Alice Coltrane,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
One Last Wish,
Basic Channel,
David Axelrod,
The Modern Lovers,
Pussy Galore,
Negative Approach,
Mars,
Hashim,
Morten Harket,
Albert Ayler,
Sound Behaviour,
The Vogues,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Smog,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Magma,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Mighty Diamonds,
DJ Sneak,
Main Source,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Motions,
Sparks,
Masters at Work,
Ronnie Foster,
Suburban Knight,
Brothers Johnson,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Todd Rundgren,
Marcia Griffiths,
Tres Demented,
Sandy B,
Sun City Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
a-ha,
Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks.
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.