MAD @ DAD

What came first - the anger or the playlist that channels it? I'm three miles into this thing, and I still can't tell if I'm running toward something or away from it. Probably both. That's the thing about anger: it's fuel until it's not, and then you're just standing in the middle of the Lakefront Trail wondering why your legs are still moving.

This playlist doesn't care about your feelings. Thirteen tracks of riot grrrl fury, egg punk weirdness, and garage rock chaos that sounds like someone set fire to a record store and saved only the angriest seven-inches. No ballads. No breathers. Just uncut rage from the first snare hit to the final feedback squeal. The kind of playlist that makes you realize all those therapeutic running articles are written by people who've never actually been mad about anything that matters.

Let me tell you about the architecture here, because whoever put this together understands something fundamental: anger has phases. You don't just sustain fury for thirty-two minutes without structure. You'd collapse or punch a mailbox. The opening salvo - "Boy's Life" through "Again" - is pure adrenaline chaos. All jagged guitars and snarling vocals that sound like they were recorded in someone's basement on equipment held together with duct tape and spite. This is the anger that gets you out the door, the kind that makes the first mile feel like you're outrunning something real.

Then "Megawatt" hits and everything tightens. The production gets meaner, more focused. By "Fucking It Up" and "Getouttahere," you're not just angry anymore - you're precise about it. Every footfall lands exactly where you want it. This is mile three, mile four energy, when your body finally shuts up and lets the rage do its job. Barry would argue this section peaks too early, but Barry's never understood that sustained fury is its own kind of meditation.

Top 5 Reasons Anger Makes Better Running Fuel Than Motivation Podcasts:

1. Anger doesn't care if you're tired - it just keeps pushing. That's "Hertz" at track three, all dissonant guitars and vocals that sound like they're fighting the microphone.

2. Anger doesn't do pacing strategy - it's all-in from the first second. The way "Boy's Life" opens with zero warning, just immediate chaos.

3. Anger makes you forget you're running - you're too busy being furious to notice your lungs. Somewhere between "Megawatt" and "Fucking It Up," you stop counting miles.

4. Anger doesn't apologize for being loud - unlike every other emotion that tries to be polite about taking up space. "Woman Driver" is gloriously, unapologetically aggressive.

5. Anger eventually burns clean - by "Burned" and "Goodnight, Goodbye," you're empty in the best way. Not calm, just finished.

The genius move is "Woman Driver" at track eight. Right when you'd normally hit the wall, right when your brain starts negotiating with your legs about maybe walking for just a minute, here comes this snarling, defiant middle finger of a song that reminds you why you started running angry in the first place. It's the sonic equivalent of someone yelling "ARE YOU DONE YET?" when you absolutely are not done.

Here's what I've figured out after too many years of running to clear my head: you can't actually outrun anger. It comes with you. Every step, every mile, still there in your chest like a passenger you didn't invite but can't kick out. But somewhere between "Mirror my Melody" and "Isochronism," the anger changes texture. Gets less sharp. More like static than a knife. By "Triple Dog," you're not running angry anymore - you're just running. The anger's still there, but it's fuel now instead of fire.

Dick would know every pressing of these tracks, every label, could probably tell you which songs were recorded on the same day based on the guitar tone. I just know they work. Know that "Burned" hits at exactly the right moment, when you're too tired to be angry but too stubborn to stop. Know that "Goodnight, Goodbye" closes the whole thing with this weird, defiant tenderness - still pissed off, but ready to be done for now.

The playlist doesn't fix anything. Doesn't solve whatever you're running from. Doesn't make the anger disappear like some kind of musical therapy session. But it gives the anger somewhere to go for thirty-two minutes, channels it into forward motion, and leaves you standing at the end with your hands on your knees thinking maybe, just maybe, you can do this again tomorrow.