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 Angola and from Paris.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 Nile Rodgers 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 Bang On A Can to the grunge 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 Peter and Kerry. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Golliwogs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Coltrane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Drive Like Jehu,
The Motions,
Soul Sonic Force,
Harry Pussy,
Matthew Halsall,
Aswad,
Tubeway Army,
Brand Nubian,
Dead Boys,
the Association,
Sam Rivers,
Deadbeat,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Fugs,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
June Days,
Arcadia,
China Crisis,
Quantec,
Camouflage,
The Blues Magoos,
Andrew Hill,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Maurizio,
48th St. Collective,
The Last Poets,
The Knickerbockers,
FM Einheit,
In Retrospect,
Skarface,
The Gladiators,
Curtis Mayfield,
Gang Green,
the Normal,
The Selecter,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Doobie Brothers,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Blake Baxter,
The Blackbyrds,
Rakim,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Icehouse,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Gun Club,
Brothers Johnson,
Clear Light,
The Dirtbombs,
Radiohead,
The Mojo Men,
Sparks,
New York Dolls,
The Star Department,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Severed Heads,
the Soft Cell,
Half Japanese,
Soft Machine,
Radio Birdman,
Bill Wells,
Hoover, Hoover, Hoover, Hoover.
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.