I've heard more of Schaap over the years. I never get tired of hearing his brisk, professorial (he's taught at Princeton) discussion of jazz and other genres. He's so knowledgeable and willing to share that knowledge -- able to play 30 seconds of music and then spend 20 minutes talking about it -- that sometimes I just want to call the station and shout, "Phil, I really dig you, but stop talking and play some music! More platter, less chatter, man!"

If Schaap is the erudite, passionate professor of all things jazz and especially Charlie Parker, the Schwartz is the hyper-empathetic therapist of the musical scene with a total, even deity-level knowledge of Frank Sinatra. He used to be a rock DJ at WNEW 25 years ago, then moved into jazz and classic standards at WNEW-AM and other stations. I've always been struck by Schwartz's warm, intimate voice, which reaches out over the airwaves to engage me in a visceral way.

Combined with the type of music Schwartz plays, that intimacy carries an emotional risk. For anybody who has ever loved, lost, and tried to love again, classic American standards can be a roller coaster ride of romantic woe. Listening to snatches of Schwartz as I drive around on the weekends, I hear some of the most beautifully depressing music ever recorded in the English language. I'm mesmerized by the ruminative pianos, the sobbing strings, the sighing brass, the lyrics of lovelorn loneliness.

Sure, it's not all staring at the shot glass at 3 a.m. in Schwartzville. This past weekend I heard some peppy Mel Torme on the show, but sometimes I think the upbeat numbers are simply required breaks between the "When Your Lover Has Gone" or "Lush Life" sort of songs, the kind with lyrics and performances that make Kurt Cobain sound like Weird Al Yankovic.

But, no matter how much the songs hurt, I always come back for more. Because with Jonathan, it hurts so good.