My father opted to solve his high cholesterol with walking instead of medication. And because he was who he was, his walking program included detailed diagrams of the local shopping mall’s step count, and an elaborate playlist of songs of walking-appropriate tempos, organized by beats per minute.
Because he shared those playlists with we boys freely—hoping, I think, that we’d develop a walking habit earlier than he did—I have a visceral sense of his walking pace. And so coming across a new track in his BPM range never fails to connect me to him.
Which is why my first thought on hearing Wolf Alice’s Don’t Delete The Kisses was “I should send this to Dad.”