You want a running playlist? Fine. Hit play, lace up, nothing else. No motivational speeches, no carefully calibrated BPM analysis, no promise that the right song at mile three will transform you into someone who actually enjoys this. This playlist isn't here to lie to you.
It starts with MASSIVE HASSLE's "Crap Is Your Life" and José Junior's "Dust"—fuzz bass, psych haze, the kind of opening that makes you think this will be easy. Loose. Fun, even. That's the setup lie. By the time Aunt Cynthia's Cabin shows up twice in three tracks alongside The Dharma Chain's "YSHK," you're in the basement tapes section of someone's '70s psych-rock fever dream, recorded on equipment that probably wasn't grounded properly. It sounds great because it sounds real.
Then tracks six and seven give you a breath—Black Moth Super Rainbow's synth wash on "Hairspray Heart," Glyders' groove on "Smooth Walker." This is the clean mirror moment, the one stretch where everything feels manageable and you remember why people claim to like running. It won't last.
Because here comes last call energy: Rickshaw Billie's Burger Patrol, MASSIVE HASSLE again with "Drink," and Fomies closing out the sludge pyramid with "Glass Pyramid." You're deep in it now. Your legs are filing complaints. Your brain is negotiating exit strategies. And "Drink"—the wall breaker—lands exactly when it should, at track nine, two-thirds through. It's the same unreliable friend from the opener, showing up at last call with the same energy, and instead of pretending this moment is transcendent, it just sits in the discomfort with you. Raw production, gloriously imperfect drums, fuzz guitar that sounds like it was recorded on Stooges-era gear. It doesn't get you over the wall. It makes being stuck feel like exactly where you're supposed to be.
Then something shifts. Nancy and the Jam Fancys hit with "Run"—folk punk urgency—and Aunt Cynthia's Cabin returns with "Moon Dust," and suddenly the playlist makes sense. You understand. This wasn't about pushing through; it was about sitting in it long enough to let it get weird and then letting weird become clarity.
The Norwegian exit strategy: Slomosa's "Red Thundra" hits like stoner rock thunder, and Still Blank closes it out with "Ain't Quite Right," because Stickman Records knows exactly how to end this kind of thing. Honest. No triumphant bullshit. You ran, you survived, it wasn't pretty, and that's the whole point. Press play. Nothing else matters.
