The Shape of Runs to Come
Over the last few months or so, I have been fairly consistent with getting outside for Sunday morning runs. A series of lower body issues had prevented me from doing so for many years, but it was an exercise I had enjoyed back then. It took time to rebuild that habit and muscle but I finally bested the behavior of doing so begrudgingly.
Back in the day (what a weird phrase to say, how old am I?) I would purchase digital copies of full albums. I'd use my run time to digest the songs in the order the artist intended. Admittedly, I've become a lazy listener now, relying on streaming services to surface playlists that I mindlessly select to get going. I want to be better than that, but that's a story for another time.
These days, my mood for music on runs can vary: Some sessions I'll pop in headphones and throw on some tunes, other times I head out free of devices (besides a watch to track all those sweet, sweaty workout stats) and simply take in the city noise.
Before I headed out for my journey this morning, a friend shared a track from an album of song covers in tribute to The Refused's The Shape Of Punk To Come. The original is a treasured classic, a staple LP from my younger years, and I can still remember the feeling of the first time it struck my ears. Its magic is reconjured every time I hear it. When that reverb-soaked feedback starts on Worms of the Senses / Faculties of the Skull, my heart rate begins to ascend. The anticipation builds, my entire body well aware of the explosion of sound imminent. As my run began, I wasn't sure if I had goosebumps from the morning chill or the wall of noise about to ensue. My legs were already pumping. I was fully present, listening intently, ready for the blast. The sound abruptly detonated sending me rocketing down the street towards the rising sun.
My current running goal is 4-in-40, traversing four miles under forty minutes. I'm certainly no Prefontaine, but it's a fair enough objective for my age and ability. I'll typically finish my journey in that duration or slightly spill over the forty-minute mark. Today was different. Listening to The Shape Of Punk To Come sent me cruising an extra quarter mile beyond the four before my workout ended. The unstoppable energy from that album is truly pure runner's fuel.
There's certainly some layer of nostalgia, my younger spirit awakened and reignited by thrashing guitars and frantic rhythms, but many elements and themes on this record were so innovative at the time it was released. New Noise is a prime example that executes the following feeling flawlessly: Build anticipation, increase the energy level, and then right as the song seems prepped to blast off, switch to something unexpected. In this case, the guitars drop out to make way for some syncopated celestial synths layered over a soft drum rhythm. The energy sits in a holding pattern, unsure whether it should burst or cool down, when suddenly—
Can I scream?!
Oh my goodness, yes. Yes you can. I quickly morphed into a runner decades younger. I had erupted, my entire being barreling full speed ahead. The midpoint of this track pulls out the same sequence of build up, drop off, and teasing just long enough before unleashing another loud burst of noise, driving to its explosive outro. As the song wraps up, "The New Beat!" is howled repeatedly to a cheering crowd that, I would imagine, had not been standing still.
I definitely needed a long stretch after this run.