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 Japan and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Albert Ayler to the dance 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 Theoretical Girls. All the underground hits.
All Don Cherry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Graham Central Station 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tommy Roe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
T.S.O.L.,
Bill Near,
Depeche Mode,
Dave Gahan,
Excepter,
Kevin Saunderson,
Kool Moe Dee,
Bad Manners,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Deepchord,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Lalo Schifrin,
Gregory Isaacs,
Josef K,
Colin Newman,
Hasil Adkins,
U.S. Maple,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lou Christie,
B.T. Express,
Althea and Donna,
Scion,
Piero Umiliani,
Janne Schatter,
Khruangbin,
DNA,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Whodini,
Rotary Connection,
The Residents,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Crash Course in Science,
Sonic Youth,
the Swans,
Minny Pops,
Malaria!,
Sixth Finger,
Scratch Acid,
The Fugs,
Harmonia,
Bluetip,
Pole,
Pussy Galore,
Derrick May,
Hoover,
Ornette Coleman,
Royal Trux,
Aloha Tigers,
Laurel Aitken,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bobby Sherman,
Ituana,
Quadrant,
Dennis Brown,
Slave,
Subhumans,
Blake Baxter,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.