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 Malawi and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Louis and Bebe Barron to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Normal. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kenny Larkin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Camberwell Now record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
The Neon Judgement,
Vladislav Delay,
Grey Daturas,
Alton Ellis,
Joe Finger,
Robert Wyatt,
The Selecter,
Danielle Patucci,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Crispy Ambulance,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sällskapet,
Tom Boy,
Spoonie Gee,
Bill Near,
Soul II Soul,
Mission of Burma,
Los Fastidios,
Ten City,
Tropical Tobacco,
Magma,
Lalo Schifrin,
Angry Samoans,
Rites of Spring,
Scion,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Interpol,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Brass Construction,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Todd Terry,
Idris Muhammad,
Lower 48,
X-102,
Ralphi Rosario,
Slick Rick,
Ludus,
Roger Hodgson,
Maleditus Sound,
Cymande,
The Trojans,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Pagans,
Sparks,
kango's stein massive,
Piero Umiliani,
Cameo,
the Swans,
Chrome,
Rod Modell,
Rotary Connection,
Section 25,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Johnny Osbourne,
Fugazi,
Lou Reed,
June of 44,
The Monks,
Morten Harket,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.