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 India and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Bang On A Can to the rap 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 Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel. All the underground hits.
All Arcadia tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crooked Eye record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
The Young Rascals,
Neu!,
Eric B and Rakim,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Scrapy,
Grauzone,
The Fortunes,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Gladiators,
Half Japanese,
Freddie Wadling,
Gang Starr,
Ronnie Foster,
Boredoms,
John Coltrane,
Joensuu 1685,
Echospace,
a-ha,
Don Cherry,
Henry Cow,
Black Flag,
The Beau Brummels,
Gang Green,
Juan Atkins,
The Toasters,
Panda Bear,
Flipper,
Mission of Burma,
The Star Department,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Deakin,
John Holt,
Duran Duran,
Nation of Ulysses,
Thee Headcoats,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Susan Cadogan,
48th St. Collective,
Amon Düül II,
Kaleidoscope,
Jacques Brel,
the Swans,
Lower 48,
The Alarm Clocks,
David McCallum,
Section 25,
Icehouse,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Rotary Connection,
The Martian,
Japan,
Johnny Clarke,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Suburban Knight,
Smog,
Livin' Joy,
Underground Resistance,
X-Ray Spex,
Monks,
Aaron Thompson,
The Remains, The Remains, The Remains, The Remains.
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.