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 Dominica and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 Mumbai and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Robert Hood to the disco 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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All U.S. Maple tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funkadelic 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer 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 arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Subhumans,
a-ha,
Grey Daturas,
DNA,
Pussy Galore,
Andrew Hill,
Joe Smooth,
Bush Tetras,
Warsaw,
Mars,
Arab on Radar,
Pylon,
Technova,
Mandrill,
ABBA,
Swell Maps,
The Pretty Things,
Ronnie Foster,
Thee Headcoats,
Con Funk Shun,
Man Eating Sloth,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Black Bananas,
Black Flag,
Gabor Szabo,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Radio Birdman,
The Toasters,
L. Decosne,
Hashim,
Donald Byrd,
Sonny Sharrock,
Glenn Branca,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Faraquet,
JFA,
Pole,
Cecil Taylor,
Scratch Acid,
Marine Girls,
The New Christs,
Pet Shop Boys,
Slave,
Wings,
The Moody Blues,
Marc Almond,
The Knickerbockers,
Sugar Minott,
Zapp,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
John Cale,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Five Americans,
Reuben Wilson,
The Fire Engines,
John Coltrane,
The Wake,
Fear,
Joe Finger,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy, The Sisters of Mercy.
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.