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 Jamaica and from Glasgow.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Move to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Fad Gadget tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Magma record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 linndrum and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols 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?
Motorama,
Black Bananas,
Ronnie Foster,
Todd Terry,
Index,
Ponytail,
Technova,
Godley & Creme,
The Smiths,
The Human League,
One Last Wish,
Au Pairs,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Fortunes,
Livin' Joy,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Banda Bassotti,
Dorothy Ashby,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Unrelated Segments,
Bang On A Can,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Happenings,
the Swans,
The J.B.'s,
Sexual Harrassment,
Simply Red,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Thee Headcoats,
Gang Starr,
Suburban Knight,
David McCallum,
Piero Umiliani,
Ten City,
Amon Düül,
Fugazi,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bootsy Collins,
The Gun Club,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Silicon Teens,
The Evens,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Magma,
The Mummies,
Jerry's Kids,
Dead Boys,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Flamin' Groovies,
Symarip,
Lakeside,
Archie Shepp,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Quantec,
Metal Thangz,
Tropical Tobacco,
Frankie Knuckles,
Aswad,
Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion.
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.