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 Malaysia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 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 Minor Threat to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Darondo. All the underground hits.
All The Star Department tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Babytalk 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eyeless In Gaza record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Harpers Bizarre,
Section 25,
Crime,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Animal Collective,
Ohio Players,
Eve St. Jones,
Slave,
cv313,
Robert Wyatt,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Don Cherry,
Ornette Coleman,
Matthew Halsall,
Television,
Crash Course in Science,
Silicon Teens,
X-Ray Spex,
Deadbeat,
Quantec,
The Detroit Cobras,
Yaz,
Inner City,
Henry Cow,
Vladislav Delay,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Bluetip,
CMW,
Aswad,
Robert Görl,
Can,
The Alarm Clocks,
Unwound,
Mark Hollis,
Joe Smooth,
Robert Hood,
the Association,
Toni Rubio,
the Germs,
Whodini,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Kerrie Biddell,
Glambeats Corp.,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Radiohead,
Supertramp,
Althea and Donna,
Dark Day,
Jawbox,
Buzzcocks,
The Moody Blues,
D'Angelo,
Letta Mbulu,
The Standells,
Michelle Simonal,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Brass Construction,
Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker.
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.