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 Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Lyres to the grime 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 Lightning Bolt. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Stooges 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Tremeloes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fela Kuti,
the Slits,
Magma,
Kerri Chandler,
Faust,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Residents,
Charles Mingus,
Camouflage,
Sällskapet,
The Names,
Quantec,
The Remains,
Freddie Wadling,
KRS-One,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Electric Prunes,
Robert Wyatt,
The Detroit Cobras,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sparks,
Guru Guru,
Mo-Dettes,
Funkadelic,
Neu!,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Glambeats Corp.,
Ronan,
Dead Boys,
Monks,
Beasts of Bourbon,
ABBA,
Barbara Tucker,
Porter Ricks,
Henry Cow,
Tom Boy,
Don Cherry,
Zapp,
Glenn Branca,
Althea and Donna,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
CMW,
Minor Threat,
Pierre Henry,
Delta 5,
Ronnie Foster,
Jawbox,
Grey Daturas,
Lower 48,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Joyce Sims,
The Litter,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Juan Atkins,
Livin' Joy,
Spoonie Gee,
a-ha,
The Angels of Light,
FM Einheit,
Animal Collective,
Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio.
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.