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 Kazakhstan and from Mexico City.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Mexico City.
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 arpeggiator 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron to the rap 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 The Divine Comedy. All the underground hits.
All Organ tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Rundgren record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Maurizio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Eve St. Jones,
MDC,
Wolf Eyes,
Magazine,
World's Most,
The Angels of Light,
Jimmy McGriff,
Jawbox,
Chris & Cosey,
Tim Buckley,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Audionom,
Deepchord,
ABBA,
Glambeats Corp.,
D'Angelo,
Camberwell Now,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Sound,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Pop Group,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Spoonie Gee,
Electric Prunes,
Dead Boys,
Sarah Menescal,
Patti Smith,
The New Christs,
Pylon,
Anakelly,
Lebanon Hanover,
In Retrospect,
The Slackers,
Make Up,
Crooked Eye,
Byron Stingily,
Clear Light,
Donald Byrd,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Steve Hackett,
Jacob Miller,
AZ,
Guru Guru,
Johnny Clarke,
Funkadelic,
Aloha Tigers,
The Slits,
Wire,
Jerry Gold Smith,
L. Decosne,
Con Funk Shun,
Nirvana,
Harpers Bizarre,
Johnny Osbourne,
Arthur Verocai,
Fear,
Brass Construction,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Offenders,
Alton Ellis,
Mission of Burma, Mission of Burma, Mission of Burma, Mission of Burma.
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.