As I enter the spacious room and take my seat in a single row of eight other participants, the lights begin to dim and the music crescendos. Facing us at the front of the room, the DJ sits, too, beginning to narrate the performance to come. She starts the routine and beckons us, the audience, to come along for the ride. Following her musically-aligned movements and encouraging instructions, I am sweating in no time, but not so much that I can't keep up; the music drives me forward. An hour passes and the lights fade in. Rejuvenated and showered in sweat, our cohort disbands. Another successful spin class in the books.
Spinning, formally known as indoor stationary cycling, is a fitness craze that began in the late 1980s and has continued well into the present. Often a group activity, spin classes are known for their guidance of high-energy instructors in a motivational environment complemented by music blasting from the speakers. The exercise has recently entered my radar this semester, since it was the most convenient P.E. course listed to fulfill my graduation requirement. Every Monday and Wednesday at 8 a.m. sharp, I get on the bike, crank up the resistance at my instructor’s request and cycle. We transition between ‘climbs’ — gradually adding resistance over time — ‘sprints’ — short bursts of fast-paced cycling — and various positions in and out of the saddle, focusing on our mind-muscle connection. As the course continued and our group became more comfortable with the bike, I began to notice how music powered our exercise, as an element both interacting with empty space in the room and building group synchrony in physical movements and rhythm.
Speed, especially, was affected by the musical environment of the class. It is no secret that music can change a listener’s mood; sad songs make us sad and happy songs make us happy. Similarly, a faster song is likely to increase pace during exercise. In the five-second countdown to our most effective sprints, the upbeat song builds to its climax and our instructor bumps up the volume, encouraging us to “run it out” and increase our rotations per minute during these 30-second bursts. It was in these sprints that our sound environment was especially apparent — there was no need to search for hidden sounds, as the music became the primary focus in the room. In this sense, music is a tool for spin instructors; as they lean into their DJ role by controlling volume and tempo, they can elicit certain physical reactions from their attendees.
Although music was a major factor during these sprints — empowering us to surpass our quickest speeds — the majority of the time it faded into the background, coming in and out of focus based not on volume but familiarity. On the first day of class, our instructor asked us for music requests. While I am not sure if anyone filled out the form (admittedly, I never got around to it), she came to class each week with a different themed playlist; once we rode it out to Superbowl hits, another time it was 2016 classics (shortly after the Chainsmokers Slope Day reveal). I realized while listening to her instructions that I only drowned out the speakers when they were playing a song I didn’t know. The second a familiar tune began, my focus immediately shifted; the instructions became secondary to my listening experience. According to industry research on indoor cycling, audience-tailored music is integral to well-performing spin classes, likely due to this experience I outlined; popular music keeps people engaged and coming back for more. The musical feature of spin class allows participants to detach from exercise and instructions, instead associating their session with a feel-good listening experience similar to jamming out in their room or on the dancefloor.
Space, too, plays an important role in how music is received and the motions of spin class are performed. Mirrored walls and a wooden rail at the front of the nearly-empty, plain room elicit associations to ballet and dance, while two rows of neatly-packed gray stationary bikes toward the back of the space create a stark contrast between the artistically dissimilar sports. Despite their differences, the audio equipment of the multipurpose room unites them — both are reliant on the large speakers at the top of the wall. These elements of the room, along with the instructor’s headset microphone, turn the exercise into a performance. Watching our similar movements reflected back at us, both from the instructor and the mirror, the individual fitness goals we are aiming toward become a group effort. Further, the room creates an intentionality; its emptiness only highlights our role — and music’s role — in filling it.
However, many popular spin classes are attended virtually, altering these spatial and musical experiences of attendees. In these cases, the class becomes an item of spectacle; it is a video watched or a game played, with no real expectation of team spirit. For the program Zwift, the cyclist is a video game character, riding alongside players in a virtual world. Peloton, on the other hand, boasts thousands of recorded stationary bike workouts in which instructors are the leading actors. Take the viral video of Kendall Toole (“Get ‘em banned”), for example. Her performance of an intense, self-assured instructor is exactly the role a spin class demands. While at-home exercises are not necessarily new, their prevalence in spinning certainly disconnects participants from their instructors and each other by catering to the appeal of virtual entertainment.
Spin class is just one of many examples of the link between music and exercise. Whether music is a central motivator in distracting participants from a strenuous workout, a generic noise to drown out a loud gym or, like spinning, something in between, it is a clear constant. Maybe, then, exercise is a performance of sorts, a type of intentional musical interaction related to physical movement. Are bodybuilders models? Athletes artists? Indoor cyclists dancers? I sure hope so.
‘Surround Sound’ is a column investigating soundscapes — how sound and spatial environments shape one another.
Hazel Tjaden is a member of the Class of 2028 in the College of Arts and Sciences. She is an assistant Arts & Culture editor on the 144th Editorial Board and can be reached at htjaden@cornellsun.com.
