THIN ICE

What came first—the ice or the moment you decided to run across it anyway?

That's the thing about this playlist. It's called THIN ICE, and the first track is literally called "Is This Love," which is the most dangerous question you can ask while standing on something that might crack. Eleven tracks, all garage rock snarl and surf-damaged psychedelic punk, sequenced by someone who understands that running isn't about safety. It's about forward motion when the ground beneath you isn't guaranteed.

Let me tell you about Cobra Man. If you don't know them, you should—LA duo making synthed-out garage rock that sounds like someone dumped neon paint on a Cramps record. They show up here multiple times because obviously they do. This playlist has taste. Bass Drum of Death brings that lo-fi Memphis punk brutality, the kind John Reis would respect. Life Leone rounds it out with psych rock that actually goes somewhere instead of just noodling around in reverb for six minutes like every boring band Dick refuses to stock.

The sequencing here is architecture, but it's not showing off. "Is This Love" opens with that question, then "Get Found" immediately answers: you're already lost, might as well keep running. By the time you hit the title track—"Thin Ice"—you're three tracks deep and the metaphor becomes physical. Your legs are moving, the BPM is climbing, and you realize the playlist is doing what all great running music does: it's making the danger feel like possibility.

Here's my Top 5 Moments Where The Ice Starts Cracking (In A Good Way):

1. "Get Found" into "Thin Ice"—The one-two punch that names the situation. You're not looking for solid ground; you're looking for momentum fast enough to keep you from sinking.

2. "Cool, Nice." as track four—The sarcasm is audible. Nothing about this run is cool or nice. You're sweating through a garage rock fever dream and the playlist knows it.

3. "Say Your Prayers" hitting at the exact moment you realize you're committed—Too far in to turn back, legs burning, and some psych-punk band you've never heard of is soundtracking your poor life choices.

4. "Bonnie" arriving as the only moment of tenderness—It's still garage rock, still fuzzy and distorted, but there's something almost romantic buried in the noise. The eye of the storm before "Current Outfit" kicks you back into chaos.

5. "Living in Hell" into "Night Sweats" to close—The playlist ends by naming what you've been feeling the whole time. You're not running away from hell; you're running through it. The night sweats are real, physical, proof you survived.

I've made versions of this playlist. Different bands, same psychology. The one I made for Laura had Thee Oh Sees and Jay Reatard—too aggressive, too obvious. She said it sounded like I was angry. I was. But this playlist isn't angry. It's something more dangerous: it's acceptance. The ice is thin. You're running on it anyway. The music doesn't lie to you about that.

What I keep thinking about is the discipline in this. Eleven tracks. No filler. No acoustic moment where you're supposed to "reflect." Just garage rock, surf rock, psych punk, all variations on the same snarling question: Are you moving fast enough to not fall through?

Barry would argue this needs more stoner rock, slower tempos, doom energy. He'd be wrong. The brilliance here is the refusal to slow down. From "Is This Love" to "Night Sweats," you're moving or you're sinking. That's the deal. The Lakefront Trail in March—that's thin ice music. The moment you decide to run a half-marathon with two weeks' training—that's thin ice music. The relationship you know is ending but you're still showing up for—that's thin ice music.

By the time "Lava Lamp Pisco" hits at track eight, you're not thinking about the metaphor anymore. You're just inside it. The psych rock swirl, the garage rock crunch, the propulsion that sounds like desperation but might actually be hope. The playlist doesn't tell you which one it is. That's your job to figure out.

The thing about thin ice is this: if you stop moving, you're done. If you think too hard about what you're standing on, you're done. The only way across is momentum, faith, and a soundtrack that understands the stakes. This playlist understands. Eleven tracks of forward motion. No guarantees. Just the run.