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 the UAE and from Manchester.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Fortunes to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra. All the underground hits.
All The Blackbyrds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marvin Gaye record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Absolute Body Control record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Malaria!,
The Shadows of Knight,
Lalo Schifrin,
MC5,
The Leaves,
Average White Band,
Khruangbin,
These Immortal Souls,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Stiv Bators,
the Fania All-Stars,
Anthony Braxton,
Graham Central Station,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Lyres,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Flesh Eaters,
Popol Vuh,
Junior Murvin,
Bluetip,
Johnny Osbourne,
Barbara Tucker,
Deakin,
Echospace,
Country Teasers,
Radio Birdman,
Icehouse,
Lucky Dragons,
Babytalk,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Rekid,
The Evens,
Sex Pistols,
Byron Stingily,
Livin' Joy,
The Moody Blues,
Alice Coltrane,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Minutemen,
Marc Almond,
Kevin Saunderson,
Rotary Connection,
The Slits,
Stereo Dub,
Slave,
Don Cherry,
The Fortunes,
Blossom Toes,
Susan Cadogan,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Sun Ra,
Rapeman,
A Certain Ratio,
Barclay James Harvest,
Inner City,
Crooked Eye,
Von Mondo,
Zero Boys,
Camouflage,
Man Parrish,
Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar.
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.