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 Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 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 The Flesh Eaters to the crunk 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 Marine Girls. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Halsall record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Frankie Knuckles,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Grass Roots,
Radiohead,
Eden Ahbez,
The Star Department,
The Tremeloes,
Soft Cell,
Barbara Tucker,
Ornette Coleman,
48th St. Collective,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bizarre Inc.,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Kerri Chandler,
Outsiders,
The Fire Engines,
Qualms,
Al Stewart,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Throbbing Gristle,
Blake Baxter,
The United States of America,
Kurtis Blow,
The Cowsills,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Y Pants,
Royal Trux,
The Birthday Party,
Cecil Taylor,
Gong,
Symarip,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Japan,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gerry Rafferty,
Average White Band,
Au Pairs,
Letta Mbulu,
the Swans,
Crispy Ambulance,
the Human League,
Quando Quango,
Robert Görl,
Lalann,
Vladislav Delay,
The Smoke,
Unrelated Segments,
Traffic Nightmare,
Kerrie Biddell,
Peter & Gordon,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
La Düsseldorf,
The Kinks,
Lalo Schifrin,
Lightning Bolt,
Suburban Knight,
Camouflage,
Stiv Bators,
Sound Behaviour,
Kenny Larkin,
Jacques Brel,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.