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 Korea South and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Arthur Verocai to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Kango’s Stein Massive. All the underground hits.
All Alison Limerick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mantronix 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultimate Spinach record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fire Engines,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Sound Behaviour,
Mandrill,
Andrew Hill,
Fad Gadget,
Lou Reed,
Marmalade,
The Black Dice,
These Immortal Souls,
The Neon Judgement,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Golliwogs,
Byron Stingily,
Groovy Waters,
Dark Day,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Yaz,
Eddi Front,
Donald Byrd,
CMW,
The New Christs,
Pulsallama,
Drexciya,
Accadde A,
Ponytail,
Black Moon,
Pussy Galore,
Yellowson,
Silicon Teens,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Young Rascals,
Anthony Braxton,
Motorama,
Ornette Coleman,
Avey Tare,
Mission of Burma,
Malaria!,
Rapeman,
Lightning Bolt,
a-ha,
Terrestrial Tones,
the Human League,
The Fall,
Lindisfarne,
New York Dolls,
The Associates,
The Searchers,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Eve St. Jones,
the Swans,
Bob Dylan,
Grey Daturas,
Tubeway Army,
Sugar Minott,
Roxette,
Model 500,
Soft Cell,
The Modern Lovers,
A Certain Ratio,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Jeff Lynne,
Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red.
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.