This is an edition of the newsletter Pulling Weeds With Chris Black, in which the columnist weighs in on hot topics in culture. Sign up here to get it in your inbox every Thursday.
Like most of you, I have spent countless hours inside gyms and fitness classes of all sorts, from best-of-the-best boutique facilities with saunas, hot tubs, and cold plunges to more rough-and-ready no-frills weight rooms with Blue Lives Matter undertones and gravel parking lots full of lifted trucks. The music at these places is all over the map; you can hear everything from big-room Zara Larsson remixes to Pantera B-sides. In the gym, this doesn’t matter that much, because everyone is wearing headphones—mostly wireless AirPods, although we all know the freaks who rock the heavy (and warm) over-ear options that provide better audio but seem like a cumbersome sweat trap. Classes, however, are a whole different story. You are at the instructor’s whim, and in my experience, whether it’s Barry’s Bootcamp in London, SoulCycle in Atlanta, or a strange HIIT class in a Berlin basement, the music usually sucks. It’s something I think about often: Does it have to be this way? Do our fittest instructors just have bad taste in music? Is there a secret industry cabal that dictates BPM standards?
When I started going to SoulCycle four times a week in 2015, I was able to push through someone’s awful playlist because my goal was to sweat as much as possible so I could go home and take a handful of OxyContin pills after breakfast. When I started taking classes with Parker, I knew a better world was possible. He had amazing taste that ran the gamut, and he was from Utah, so I would often get a song from The Killers, which would drive me to a PR and help me ignore the fact that former hockey player Sean Avery was often sitting in the back corner doing his own workout. Parker gave me hope, but since I stopped SoulCycling, I’ve only had bad fitness-music experiences—until I went for some hot pilates at Silver Springs, a beautiful studio on Melrose in Los Angeles.
The first time I went, I knew it was for me. The crowd (much like the room) was hot, everyone was fit and happy, they were playing The Replacements in the lobby, and it smelled good. But I was really struck by the music. It was loud and fun, and the choices were cool. There were no corny remixes or Alex Warren songs—only Luscious Jackson, New Order, Underworld, Four Tet, and Weyes Blood. After many more classes with good playlists, I had questions. I chatted with Olivia Spralja, the founder. I asked her why exercise-class music is often so bad. “Honestly, I have no idea,” she said. “But it’s scary out there, isn’t it? I think it’s probably a combination of questionable taste, teachers playing music they think they should, and a lack of care in curation, which tends to result in an anonymous, soulless vibe.” Obviously, it’s a fine line to keep the rare freak like me happy while also trying to appease a room full of girlies in matching sets who just want to get a sweaty selfie. They will leave happy even if they didn’t hear a Sabrina Carpenter song during the final abs set.
I also wanted to know what goes into making the perfect set for a good workout. Is it just a mix of well-known and obscure songs, or is it about BPM and a general arc and flow? Spralja had thoughts: “I don’t think about BPM, and I actually think it’s kind of a red flag when people talk to me about it. I have never thought about it like that. I know it’s helpful for a lot of people, but for me it’s a feeling,” she said. It also gets more psychological: “When it comes to fitness, you’re building trust with all of your choices: music, exercises, and timing. It all takes time, so at first it’s a mixture of playing the hits. Hence, people feel comfortable, programming exercises that people can do so they don’t feel defeated, and using time honestly so that people feel like they can accomplish anything,” she said. It all makes sense, and I will keep coming back to Silver Springs, and leave my phone in my locker even though I want to Shazam half the class. I asked Spralja if anyone has ever complained about her music choices, “Never! I’d cry,” she said.
