MOTEL SIX

What came first: the playlist or the decision to actually lace up your shoes on a Saturday morning when you could be sleeping in? I've been asking myself this question for three weekends now, and I think I finally figured it out. It's not about motivation or discipline or any of that self-help garbage. It's about having the right fifteen tracks to make you forget you're a thirty-something weekend warrior stealing an hour of sanity before the kids wake up.

Let me tell you about this playlist. Six bands. That's it. Six bands playing loud, dingy, gloriously uncomplicated rock music that sounds like it was recorded in the same basement where the Stooges rehearsed Raw Power. The Velveteers, Beach Riot, Tigercub—these aren't your algorithmically-generated "chill running vibes" bands. These are bands that understand what a Marshall stack is supposed to do to your chest cavity.

Top 5 Reasons This Playlist Works When You're Running on Four Hours of Sleep and Questionable Coffee:

1. The drum sound is massive and stupid-simple, which is exactly what your oxygen-deprived brain can process at mile two when higher cognitive function has left the building.

2. Every guitar tone sounds like it was recorded through a blown speaker in 1993, and there's something deeply honest about that kind of sonic grit when you're huffing through a suburban loop route.

3. The egg punk energy (yes, that's actually a genre now, and yes, I have opinions about the term) keeps the tempo moving without feeling like you're being yelled at by a fitness instructor.

4. Zero ballads, zero acoustic interludes, zero moments where you're tempted to walk it out—just relentless forward motion, which is metaphorically what we're all trying to achieve here, right?

5. It's short enough (fifteen tracks) that you're not lost in some endless algorithmic loop, but substantial enough to get you through an 8K without repeating, which would obviously ruin everything.

Here's what happens: "Robot" kicks in and you're already moving before you've consciously decided to start. By "Wrong Impression," you've found a rhythm that's more primal than calculated—the kind of stride that doesn't come from a training app but from pure sonic momentum. "Devil's Radio" hits around the fifteen-minute mark when your legs are still fresh but your brain is starting to negotiate an early exit, and those garage rock guitars shut down the negotiation immediately.

The middle section—"Baby Drummer" through "I.W.G.F.U."—that's where the playlist earns its keep. This is mile three territory for most weekend warriors, where running stops being novel and starts being work. But these tracks don't condescend to you with fake energy or motivational lyrics. They just barrel forward with the same dogged persistence you're trying to muster, all fuzzed-out bass and drums that sound like they're trying to break through the recording equipment.

"Antiseptic" arrives right when you need it—that two-thirds point where every run becomes a war of attrition. And then you get the final push: "The Haze," "Tune in, Drop Out," "Motel #27," a one-two-three-four knockout sequence that sounds exactly like its name suggests—sweaty, transient, slightly desperate, absolutely necessary.

Look, I'm not saying this playlist will make you faster or stronger or any of that aspirational nonsense. What I am saying is that sometimes you need music that meets you exactly where you are: tired, time-crunched, trying to maintain some version of yourself that existed before mortgages and car payments and wondering if you're too old to still care this much about guitar tone. These six bands get it. Loud drums, dingy guitars, no apologies, no unnecessary complications. Just the essentials, delivered with maximum volume and minimum pretense.

It's not what you run like. It's what you run to.

(Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make a Top 5 list of other activities that require exactly this many tracks.)

Rob Gordon