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 Venezuela and from Woodstock.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 marimba 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 The Angels of Light to the electroclash 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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All Bronski Beat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fat Boys 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Fania All-Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nation of Ulysses,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Spandau Ballet,
The Blackbyrds,
Duran Duran,
Sun Ra,
The Electric Prunes,
Tres Demented,
Kayak,
UT,
The Divine Comedy,
Roger Hodgson,
John Holt,
Soul II Soul,
The Moody Blues,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Kas Product,
Althea and Donna,
The Mummies,
Tears for Fears,
Davy DMX,
Camouflage,
The Leaves,
The Knickerbockers,
Donald Byrd,
Wire,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Johnny Osbourne,
D'Angelo,
Rotary Connection,
Intrusion,
Rhythm & Sound,
Deepchord,
Eurythmics,
Aural Exciters,
Hot Snakes,
Nik Kershaw,
Brand Nubian,
Youth Brigade,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
B.T. Express,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Yaz,
LL Cool J,
Fluxion,
Chris Corsano,
Letta Mbulu,
Flamin' Groovies,
Black Sheep,
Pet Shop Boys,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Hoover,
H. Thieme,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Nas,
Gastr Del Sol,
F. McDonald,
the Sonics,
The Gap Band,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Average White Band,
Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis.
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.