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 Uzbekistan and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in 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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 snare 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 Fatback Band to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Black Moon. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Masters at Work 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Busters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Unrelated Segments,
Blake Baxter,
Kayak,
Rapeman,
Sexual Harrassment,
Urselle,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Wolf Eyes,
Maurizio,
The Blues Magoos,
Fat Boys,
Deepchord,
Intrusion,
Mo-Dettes,
La Düsseldorf,
Juan Atkins,
Motorama,
Scientists,
Rufus Thomas,
Bill Near,
The Saints,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
cv313,
The Monks,
John Cale,
Das Ding,
Freddie Wadling,
Monolake,
FM Einheit,
Hashim,
Siglo XX,
Mandrill,
Tres Demented,
The Cure,
B.T. Express,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Rotary Connection,
Gang of Four,
Archie Shepp,
New Order,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Curtis Mayfield,
Tom Boy,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Pop Group,
Roxy Music,
Marmalade,
Ornette Coleman,
The Standells,
Funkadelic,
Mantronix,
Sam Rivers,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Soul Sonic Force,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Model 500,
The Last Poets,
The Skatalites,
The Monochrome Set,
Brass Construction,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.