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 Tonga and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe 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 Joy Division to the techno kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Glenn Branca. All the underground hits.
All The Peanut Butter Conspiracy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Moon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blake Baxter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ornette Coleman,
Ken Boothe,
The J.B.'s,
8 Eyed Spy,
Mad Mike,
Royal Trux,
Aaron Thompson,
Harry Pussy,
Supertramp,
Deakin,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Masters at Work,
Clear Light,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Isaac Hayes,
Harpers Bizarre,
Gang Green,
Stereo Dub,
Visage,
The Slackers,
The Electric Prunes,
K-Klass,
Sixth Finger,
Sarah Menescal,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Evens,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
David Bowie,
Laurel Aitken,
CMW,
Jandek,
Patti Smith,
Roger Hodgson,
Intrusion,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Shadows of Knight,
Susan Cadogan,
Bauhaus,
Pole,
U.S. Maple,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Tears for Fears,
Hardrive,
Eric Dolphy,
The Angels of Light,
Bang On A Can,
Can,
DNA,
Yazoo,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Cymande,
Symarip,
Silicon Teens,
Qualms,
These Immortal Souls,
Pharoah Sanders,
John Cale,
Fat Boys,
Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu.
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.