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 Saudi Arabia and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 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 Mandrill to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Laurel Aitken. All the underground hits.
All Cabaret Voltaire tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispy Ambulance 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Big Daddy Kane,
Barclay James Harvest,
Sun City Girls,
John Lydon,
Second Layer,
The New Christs,
Monks,
Rapeman,
Stiv Bators,
Cluster,
The Black Dice,
Crime,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Howard Jones,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Country Teasers,
Bootsy Collins,
Don Cherry,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fear,
Barbara Tucker,
Eli Mardock,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Searchers,
Roy Ayers,
the Slits,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Gladiators,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
James White and The Blacks,
Pere Ubu,
Sound Behaviour,
Ultra Naté,
Soul Sonic Force,
Supertramp,
Underground Resistance,
Harry Pussy,
Wally Richardson,
Donald Byrd,
Boz Scaggs,
These Immortal Souls,
Barry Ungar,
Electric Prunes,
The Durutti Column,
Nico,
Bobby Womack,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
8 Eyed Spy,
Blancmange,
the Association,
Nas,
La Düsseldorf,
Unrelated Segments,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Cramps,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Moleskins,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Average White Band, Average White Band, Average White Band, Average White Band.
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.