Without a song...

It's early afternoon and I'm eased back in my recliner. Didn't feel like brunch today.

So I've turned on the XM and am continuing my week-long New York state of mind by tuning into the disc jockey of the City.

Jonathan Schwartz still does his Sunday show. He's been around, it seems, nearly as long as the Great American Songbook music he plays.

Today he opens up with an eclectic gem. Bernadette Peters doing Bob Dylan.

And I'll be your baby tonight...

First time I heard that song, Bobby Darin was doing it at the Desert Inn. Mack the Knife turned Dylan's folk song into a blues number. He was good.

Now Schwartz is playing Ben Webster. He's taking off on a Richard Rodgers tune. I can't remember the name and I'm too lazy to get up and look.

I wonder if kids listen to the radio anymore in this iPod, MP3, download it now! world. I don't even listen to the radio like I once did. That's because Knox Vegas radio sucks.

But I digress.

When I was a kid, every night at 8 or so, you could find me in front of the big dial, usually tuned to some oldies station. I used to call one particular show every night while doing homework. My moniker was "Jake in Halls." (Imagine that.)

One night I coaxed DJ Tony Lawson into digging up Elvis Presley's "Promised Land." He had to go down to the basement and find the 45 RPM single. But he played it.

Left my home in Norfolk, Virginia, California on my mind...

Johnny's got somebody -- it isn't Patsy Cline -- singing "Walking After Midnight." Pretty good. Real jazzy. Something you'd hear in a joint.

Tonight we're going to hear Robin. I hear she's got a new band. Can't wait.

Robin sang me to sleep last night.

Funny how my teardrops don't make a sound, when they roll down my cheeks and they fall to the ground...

Whenever I die, my funeral is going to be a wall-to-wall sound of music that will make Phil Spector blush. You'll think you've come to a concert, and that's the way I want it. No tears. No fuss. Just tunes.

Schwartz is playing Astaire. Now it's k.d. lang, of all people, belting out Sinatra's classic saloon song, "Angel Eyes." Where does he find this stuff?

I'm thinking about turning it off. I want to hear the Chairman of the Board himself.

Without a song, the day would never end...

You're so right, Frankie. You're so right.