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 Chad and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 Robert Palmer 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 Beasts of Bourbon to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Terry Callier. All the underground hits.
All Jerry Gold Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cowsills record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Underground Resistance,
Swell Maps,
48th St. Collective,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Divine Comedy,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Wire,
Prince Buster,
Zapp,
Fluxion,
Terrestrial Tones,
Q and Not U,
New Age Steppers,
Whodini,
Bobby Sherman,
Unrelated Segments,
Ludus,
Ohio Players,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Sound Behaviour,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Con Funk Shun,
Intrusion,
The Sonics,
Delon & Dalcan,
Model 500,
Loose Ends,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Cybotron,
The American Breed,
Youth Brigade,
Ronan,
Radio Birdman,
The Black Dice,
Roxy Music,
Marine Girls,
Soft Machine,
a-ha,
Los Fastidios,
Alice Coltrane,
The Doobie Brothers,
Lungfish,
Kenny Larkin,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Severed Heads,
The Gories,
Inner City,
Patti Smith,
Marvin Gaye,
Althea and Donna,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Leaves,
Tom Boy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Gastr Del Sol,
Eric Copeland,
Lalann,
Man Eating Sloth,
Altered Images,
Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne.
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.