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 Antigua and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 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 KRS-One to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Nik Kershaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pierre Henry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Youth Brigade,
Mission of Burma,
Average White Band,
The Walker Brothers,
Angry Samoans,
Prince Buster,
Lower 48,
the Slits,
Funky Four + One,
Lee Hazlewood,
a-ha,
Jeff Mills,
Soul II Soul,
Bobby Womack,
Barry Ungar,
Animal Collective,
Ronnie Foster,
Outsiders,
The Monochrome Set,
The Real Kids,
Rod Modell,
Depeche Mode,
Shuggie Otis,
ABC,
Laurel Aitken,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Maleditus Sound,
Eve St. Jones,
The Moody Blues,
Agent Orange,
K-Klass,
Slick Rick,
Shoche,
Ultimate Spinach,
Aloha Tigers,
Spandau Ballet,
Traffic Nightmare,
Tommy Roe,
Boz Scaggs,
H. Thieme,
Rufus Thomas,
John Lydon,
Qualms,
Roy Ayers,
The Fall,
Moby Grape,
The Durutti Column,
The Fortunes,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sam Rivers,
Morten Harket,
David Axelrod,
Inner City,
UT,
Flipper,
Yazoo,
The Residents,
Eden Ahbez,
Kurtis Blow,
Quadrant,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.