Cedar Rapids public radio has distressingly meager music offerings on a Saturday afternoon:

88.3: A meandery improvisational jazz combo featuring a dyspeptic saxophone, a trumpeter who has recently discovered how to triple-tongue relentlessly for 36 relentless measures relentlessly, a keyboardist who’s clearly terrified to improvise beyond a dotted-quarter/eighth/dotted-quarter/eighth rhythm, and more dyspeptic saxophone to mask the trumpeter’s tongue-surgery screams

91.7: That one opera where heartbreaking circumstances propel a bunch of people with vibratos tall enough to drive a truck through into a labyrinth of unrequited love, totally plausible misunderstandings, a silly song sung by a person in a ridiculous hat, a fully staged ballet that acts as an Artful Metaphor for people who need to have plot points re-explained to them by waifish women in tulle and high (or low, depending on the contextual emotional-continuum level of anguish) hair buns, atonal recitative that it a totally productive replacement for Earnest Dialogue, three totally plausible deaths, and an emotionally triumphant High C Of Self Actualization

90.9: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT HILLBILLY-ASS NOISE YOU’RE PLAYING?

Fortunately, I now have the Amazon Music app on my phone so I can dig that beat, stomp my feet, dig be-bop and never stop down in Birdland whenever the need arises. Yes, indeed I do.