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 Singapore and from Portland.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Mumbai.
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 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 R.M.O. to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Stetsasonic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scrapy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Barracudas,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Tremeloes,
The Divine Comedy,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Alarm Clocks,
Gabor Szabo,
The Fall,
Mark Hollis,
Unwound,
The New Christs,
Warsaw,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Andrew Hill,
Peter and Kerry,
H. Thieme,
Bob Dylan,
Thee Headcoats,
Jandek,
The Move,
Second Layer,
John Coltrane,
Flash Fearless,
Soulsonic Force,
The Residents,
Lou Christie,
Pussy Galore,
Underground Resistance,
Crooked Eye,
Anakelly,
Fear,
Marvin Gaye,
Crime,
Minnie Riperton,
the Normal,
Dorothy Ashby,
DJ Sneak,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Martian,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Wasted Youth,
Severed Heads,
The Blues Magoos,
the Bar-Kays,
Lalann,
These Immortal Souls,
Wolf Eyes,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Cluster,
Khruangbin,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Nico,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Crash Course in Science,
Drexciya,
John Foxx,
Marshall Jefferson,
Sexual Harrassment,
Minor Threat,
Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel.
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.