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 Djibouti and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the rap 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 Avey Tare. All the underground hits.
All Infiniti tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television Personalities 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Royal Trux,
Janne Schatter,
Isaac Hayes,
Saccharine Trust,
Negative Approach,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Grass Roots,
Delon & Dalcan,
DJ Sneak,
Dark Day,
Alice Coltrane,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Music Machine,
Marcia Griffiths,
Index,
Cecil Taylor,
Robert Görl,
The Blues Magoos,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
a-ha,
Bobby Womack,
David Bowie,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Wake,
Matthew Bourne,
Spandau Ballet,
Electric Prunes,
Rites of Spring,
Bobby Byrd,
Black Sheep,
Joe Finger,
UT,
H. Thieme,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Tears for Fears,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Martian,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Rufus Thomas,
The Doors,
The Flesh Eaters,
Joey Negro,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Names,
Yusef Lateef,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Mark Hollis,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Victims,
The Toasters,
Cameo,
Das Ding,
Danielle Patucci,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Gun Club,
The Slackers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
K-Klass,
JFA,
Khruangbin,
Barrington Levy, Barrington Levy, Barrington Levy, Barrington Levy.
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.