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 Uruguay and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 marimba 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 Eric B and Rakim 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 The Raincoats. All the underground hits.
All Traffic Nightmare tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crime record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Saints,
The Durutti Column,
Deadbeat,
Crash Course in Science,
Jacques Brel,
Excepter,
Technova,
X-101,
Max Romeo,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Eve St. Jones,
Bad Manners,
Procol Harum,
Duran Duran,
Dark Day,
Motorama,
Hot Snakes,
Essential Logic,
Crime,
Sarah Menescal,
Shoche,
Ultravox,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
These Immortal Souls,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Mad Mike,
Sandy B,
Pussy Galore,
Q and Not U,
The Techniques,
Dual Sessions,
Brothers Johnson,
Traffic Nightmare,
Freddie Wadling,
Electric Prunes,
Nirvana,
Nils Olav,
T. Rex,
Pulsallama,
Boredoms,
Franke,
David Bowie,
Kayak,
T.S.O.L.,
The Red Krayola,
The Birthday Party,
Das Ding,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Camberwell Now,
Dead Boys,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Pole,
The Kinks,
The Invisible,
Jesper Dahlback,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
June of 44,
The Evens,
Bang On A Can,
Niagra, Niagra, Niagra, Niagra.
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.