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 Tunisia and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Scion to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 A Flock of Seagulls. All the underground hits.
All The Gap Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a U.S. Maple record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet 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 Five Americans,
Whodini,
the Normal,
Charles Mingus,
Joey Negro,
Pere Ubu,
Mandrill,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Ultimate Spinach,
Theoretical Girls,
U.S. Maple,
Loose Ends,
The Martian,
The Motions,
Nico,
The Flesh Eaters,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ituana,
Roxy Music,
Crispy Ambulance,
Leonard Cohen,
Index,
Pussy Galore,
The Doobie Brothers,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Raincoats,
Mary Jane Girls,
Motorama,
Maurizio,
Brick,
Max Romeo,
Laurel Aitken,
Negative Approach,
Ultra Naté,
The Moody Blues,
John Cale,
Suicide,
Metal Thangz,
Sandy B,
Underground Resistance,
Q and Not U,
Animal Collective,
The Zeros,
Blossom Toes,
Public Enemy,
Slave,
Black Sheep,
Masters at Work,
David McCallum,
Babytalk,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Searchers,
The Blues Magoos,
Marmalade,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Slits,
Neil Young,
Dorothy Ashby,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Boz Scaggs,
Pulsallama,
Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia.
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.