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 Angola and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 808 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 David Axelrod to the techno 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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Thompson Twins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Music Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Siglo XX,
Johnny Clarke,
Pole,
Iggy Pop,
Zapp,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Gladiators,
Suburban Knight,
The Electric Prunes,
Girls At Our Best!,
Gil Scott Heron,
Khruangbin,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sonic Youth,
Television,
The Moleskins,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gerry Rafferty,
Amon Düül,
Aural Exciters,
Warsaw,
The Zeros,
The Wake,
Crispy Ambulance,
Radiohead,
the Soft Cell,
Colin Newman,
Interpol,
Cal Tjader,
Con Funk Shun,
Frankie Knuckles,
Rakim,
The Standells,
Patti Smith,
Gong,
F. McDonald,
Mars,
Eric B and Rakim,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Flesh Eaters,
Derrick Morgan,
D'Angelo,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Clear Light,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Amon Düül II,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Nico,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
JFA,
Idris Muhammad,
the Association,
Ituana,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Max Romeo,
Suicide,
Henry Cow,
Deepchord,
Bob Dylan,
Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins.
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.