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 Antigua and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 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 James White and The Blacks to the dance 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 Minor Threat. All the underground hits.
All Black Bananas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Motions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Flag,
Unwound,
Marcia Griffiths,
Joe Finger,
Scott Walker,
Drexciya,
Tubeway Army,
Terrestrial Tones,
Amazonics,
Vladislav Delay,
Brass Construction,
Nico,
The Index,
Niagra,
The Gories,
A Certain Ratio,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Flesh Eaters,
Parry Music,
The Divine Comedy,
Basic Channel,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Standells,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Susan Cadogan,
the Association,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Roxette,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Aloha Tigers,
DNA,
Rod Modell,
Icehouse,
Soulsonic Force,
Adolescents,
Rites of Spring,
Schoolly D,
Whodini,
Crispian St. Peters,
David McCallum,
The Music Machine,
The Five Americans,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Stetsasonic,
The Misunderstood,
The Alarm Clocks,
Vainqueur,
Grauzone,
Massinfluence,
Crooked Eye,
Bush Tetras,
Bobby Womack,
Blake Baxter,
the Sonics,
Leonard Cohen,
Essential Logic,
Dorothy Ashby,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Moss Icon,
The Selecter,
Swell Maps,
Oneida,
Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux.
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.