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Music impacts the quality of a workout. The right music can motivate members to exercise at their fullest potential, while the wrong music can be distracting or downright unpleasant, leading to reduced satisfaction and performance. This makes selecting music for a health club a difficult task. Not only do the tastes of individual members vary, but the music desired by the majority of people present at a particular time also changes. Often the “squeaky wheels” get their way, as members request their favorite formats from the staff. Andersen Consulting’s Center for Strategic Technology Research came up with a high-tech solution to these problems. It installed an automated system that selects the most appropriate music based on the pre-established preferences of Fitness Xchange members who are working out at a particular time.

The White Stripes third release is reviewed.
The White Stripes’ third LP White Blood Cells (Sympathy For the Record Industry) consolidates their preeminence as a band that shakes your ass. Happily free of any pretense of self-pity or melancholy, the White Stripes write nasty songs, blistering numbers, bizarre little ditties, and postmodern country melodrama. This album is a far more crisply produced affair than the two before it. The basic formula remains intact: Meg White plays drums, Jack White sings and plays guitar, the album is largely red and white, and the songs are propulsive and punchy, bluesy throughout and country inflected in places.

It’s all according to Muriel C. Bagonia
(Background) – She’s half way there, It’s a miracle, There she goes
* Barrow, borrow, sorrow, narrow minds are just a joke

Farewell and adieu to you, noble hearties
Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain
I’ve received my orders for to sail for the Deadman
But I hope with the Grand Fleet to see you again
I have hove my ship to, main topsail aback, boys
I have hove my ship to, for to strike soundings clear
The black scud aflyin’, by God’s blessing damn me
Right up the channel for the Deadman I’ll steer
I have worried through waters that are called the doldrums
I’ve growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope
Blast my eyes but the lightship is hid by the mist, boys
Flying Dutchman–odd bobbs–off the Cape of Good Hope!
But what’s this I feel fanning my cheek, Matt?
The white gooney’s wing–land ho–’tis the Cape!
Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine none
And tell Holy Joe to avast with the crepe
“Dead reckoning” says Joe “it won’t do to go by”./ But they doused all the light, Matt, in sky t’other night.
Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman
And Tom Deadlight, he thinks he may reckon near right

Tom Deadlight
Music by Ted Porter, words unknown

I woke up one morning in the spring of ’65
Considering myself lucky to be found alive
I hitched up my mule my business to pursue
Instead of hauling four loads I only hauled two
I had my fill of plowing before the sun was high
The sunshine made my head feel strange, it was an honest try
I unhitched my mule, saddled up my mare and
Went down to the grocery to see what’s doin’ there
Farming folk from miles around were gathering in the store
All saying how they never left their plow so soon before
While talking of the mysteries of God’s unfolding will
Old Man Hawkins brought a load of whiskey from his still
None of us had ever drunk so early in the day
Since today was special we got drunk anyway