🔊
I’ve been following João for a while. His alter ego EMILIANO BRUSCHETTA helped me appreciate circuit music by nudging it out of its gay club context. In real life he’s a Brazilian cowboy.
This song was posted on his Soundcloud a couple months ago, but I’m just getting to it now. It’s a baile funk version of an arrocha song: slow-tempo, sentimental music from the province of Bahia. The beat on the remix is bubbly, verging on sexy. Always smart to end the gym session with some libidinal energy. A reminder of why we do this.
I start to think of warmer times. Of playing music in a car with the windows down, on the way to the second (or third) location. Of feeling physically and spiritually hot while walking down a city sidewalk. One of these days the soiled snow will (finally) melt and I’ll free myself from this nocturnal gym cycle. But until then, my late-shift brothers and I trudge along, lost in our private routines. Push/pull/leg. Rest, then repeat.
I squeeze my shoulder blades together, then release the rope grip. Time to go home.
As I leave, I fist bump the old man on the row machine and think to myself: he’s just like me for real. But then I notice the Dunkin Donuts cup next to him, and realize he’s only now starting his day.
We’re just two lugs passing in the night.
This song was posted on his Soundcloud a couple months ago, but I’m just getting to it now. It’s a baile funk version of an arrocha song: slow-tempo, sentimental music from the province of Bahia. The beat on the remix is bubbly, verging on sexy. Always smart to end the gym session with some libidinal energy. A reminder of why we do this.
I start to think of warmer times. Of playing music in a car with the windows down, on the way to the second (or third) location. Of feeling physically and spiritually hot while walking down a city sidewalk. One of these days the soiled snow will (finally) melt and I’ll free myself from this nocturnal gym cycle. But until then, my late-shift brothers and I trudge along, lost in our private routines. Push/pull/leg. Rest, then repeat.
I squeeze my shoulder blades together, then release the rope grip. Time to go home.
As I leave, I fist bump the old man on the row machine and think to myself: he’s just like me for real. But then I notice the Dunkin Donuts cup next to him, and realize he’s only now starting his day.
We’re just two lugs passing in the night.
Feb 22, 2026