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 Guatemala and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 Houston and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 guitar 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 Lucky Dragons to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All The Smoke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
K-Klass,
Tears for Fears,
Cluster,
Inner City,
E-Dancer,
Funky Four + One,
Suicide,
Blossom Toes,
Girls At Our Best!,
Arcadia,
The Flesh Eaters,
Barclay James Harvest,
Soul Sonic Force,
Cameo,
Mr. Review,
X-102,
Matthew Bourne,
Grandmaster Flash,
Freddie Wadling,
Black Pus,
Electric Prunes,
Letta Mbulu,
Robert Hood,
Dave Gahan,
Ohio Players,
David McCallum,
Bad Manners,
The Techniques,
The Kinks,
New Order,
Lebanon Hanover,
Surgeon,
London Community Gospel Choir,
ABBA,
The Gladiators,
Saccharine Trust,
X-Ray Spex,
Eve St. Jones,
The Happenings,
Silicon Teens,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Jeru the Damaja,
Fad Gadget,
U.S. Maple,
OOIOO,
Kerri Chandler,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Cecil Taylor,
Jacob Miller,
Sonny Sharrock,
Byron Stingily,
Drexciya,
Connie Case,
Bauhaus,
Alton Ellis,
The Monochrome Set,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Minor Threat,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Basic Channel,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore.
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.