Great Running Tunes

What makes a great running tune?

Beat? Rhythm? Good memories of good times?

When I’m not running in the dark I take my iPod shuffle out on a run. This tune is fab for a bit of chilled out interval training. And it reminds me of being 18. Check out the clothes!

And here we have a top dance tune from long-time back. I saw this band at Glasgow’s Barrowlands in the 1990s. Barrowlands has a sprung floor, giving the audience a feeling of moving as one as they jump up and down.

Running is a substitute for clubbing, in a way. Moving, repetition, rhythm…

Ok, camp as a row of tents, Spandau Ballet but so much fun. Check out the bonkers togs, marvel at the underarm hair, reel at the lyrics. ‘These are my salad days, slowly being eaten away. Just another play for today. Oh but I’m proud of you, I’m so proud of you…’ Make any sense? Goodness no!

A little present here, from @JediRider – a little funky disco tune for all penguins

Crazy, with a big capital 180pt helvetica C for this tune by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Most Friday nights me and Mr M have kitchen disco where we take turns to put on tunes and dance like maniacs. This version is a bit flat at the start, maybe they’re live. But stick with it, it rocks. I always put on The Night. It’s great with a capital G for running too.

And while I’m on about Northern Soul, check this out. Watch the dancing. It’s mesmerising. And possibly fueled by something stronger than a lager shandy.

Somehow, and I really can’t think how, I’d completely forgotten about this tune. I was mad about it when I was 17 and then,when I was about 23, I got to see this band at Warrington Parr Hall. Not only see them, but review them (I was a reporter on the local weekly newspaper) and go back stage afterwards to meet the band.

I’m much better at meeting people I admire now, but at 23 I was almost dumbstruck. Fortunately Lee Brilleaux was absolutely charming and chirped away happily about the band, the tour and the frustrations of being in the same band as Wilko Johnson, who he called a genius, while i stabbed away at my notebook in sprawling pitman 2000. He gave me his address, telephone number and invited me and a colleague to visit him and the family in Canvey Island. He did have a cold and he did drink about half a bottle of gin while we were talking. Maybe it was the mother’s ruin, I seem to remember having the odd swig myself, but he struck me as utterly genuine, generous and God bless him, a true gentleman.


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