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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 clarinet 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Bronski Beat. All the underground hits.
All Scientists tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blancmange record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Buckinghams record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Alarm Clocks,
Guru Guru,
Albert Ayler,
The Dead C,
Public Image Ltd.,
Jerry's Kids,
The Invisible,
The Walker Brothers,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Donald Byrd,
Scientists,
Clear Light,
E-Dancer,
The Martian,
Archie Shepp,
Radiohead,
Thee Headcoats,
Can,
Bizarre Inc.,
Jeff Mills,
Roy Ayers,
Vladislav Delay,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Jesper Dahlback,
Deadbeat,
Motorama,
Rod Modell,
Desert Stars,
The Doors,
Marcia Griffiths,
Lyres,
Agent Orange,
Gang Starr,
Eli Mardock,
Underground Resistance,
Al Stewart,
The Music Machine,
Television,
Mission of Burma,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Visage,
June Days,
Roger Hodgson,
Tubeway Army,
Terry Callier,
Ken Boothe,
Kerrie Biddell,
ABBA,
The Blackbyrds,
Johnny Clarke,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Nico,
Youth Brigade,
the Human League,
Make Up,
Anthony Braxton,
Panda Bear,
Idris Muhammad, Idris Muhammad, Idris Muhammad, Idris Muhammad.
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.