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 Iran and from Portland.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Houston.
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 linndrum 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 The Selecter 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All 48th St. Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Basic Channel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Tremeloes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Aural Exciters,
Michelle Simonal,
Rosa Yemen,
Marcia Griffiths,
B.T. Express,
The Detroit Cobras,
Young Marble Giants,
Anthony Braxton,
Jeff Mills,
Motorama,
Monolake,
Sandy B,
Slave,
Zero Boys,
Inner City,
Faust,
Darondo,
The Cowsills,
Terry Callier,
Rufus Thomas,
Ultimate Spinach,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bobby Hutcherson,
the Sonics,
Big Daddy Kane,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Martian,
Bob Dylan,
Intrusion,
ABBA,
New Order,
Mo-Dettes,
Gerry Rafferty,
Ice-T,
Hasil Adkins,
Johnny Clarke,
Flamin' Groovies,
Adolescents,
Little Man,
New York Dolls,
Ituana,
Jawbox,
Dave Gahan,
Angry Samoans,
LL Cool J,
The Gun Club,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Sonics,
Drive Like Jehu,
Fear,
Faraquet,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Zeros,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Moleskins,
Desert Stars,
Underground Resistance,
Grey Daturas,
The Five Americans,
Nik Kershaw,
Sam Rivers,
The Invisible, The Invisible, The Invisible, The Invisible.
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.