Jazz and a rainy drive: the grey sky, the sizzling asphalt mirror reflecting red taillights, the tshhh-ta-ta-tshhh of the cymbal, the muted Miles trumpet or round tone of the saxophone. This morning it's Syeeda's Song Flute and rain over 128.

It's a strange lack of connection: when a musician records, he can't know all the ways his music will be heard. Most of the time, it's maybe background music, but in the best cases it's an accompaniment so right that the music becomes a defining part of an experience. The same question of connection, I remember from experience, goes for the radio DJ, especially at the smaller stations where there's actually a human caring about the music: who's out there hearing my 5am Saturday show? Bagel makers, lovemakers, crazed late party-ers, just-awake mothers.