Three hours of adventurous jazz drawing on the Destination: Out archives and other planes of there.

I play rhinoceros and psychedelic fork.

The finest in Micronesian doo-wop, Appalachian mambo, Turkish mariachi, pygmy yodeling of Baltimore, Portuguese juju, Cajun gamelan, tuba choirs form Mozambique, Inuit marching bands, Filipino free jazz, Egyptian kabuki theater, and throat singers of the Lower East Side.

A reflexive, traveling radio production. Each show is spontaneous as a backroom deal, a different guest a different location every week. Two hours of trading records with friends, programming without a prepared playlist. Actually, it goes like this: Jesse Kaminsky travels around Boston with a portable radio show, visits a different person every week and makes spontaneous musical exchanges. We agree to call it radio.

Fuzzy guitars, sing-able pop anthems, punk of all subtypes, little bits of soul, country both funny and sad, and brawl-worthy pub rock. More. Prepared with love.

A virtual supermarket sweep of recorded history, with an emphasis on processed cheese.

The finest in Micronesian doo-wop, Appalachian mambo, Turkish mariachi, pygmy yodeling of Baltimore, Portuguese juju, Cajun gamelan, tuba choirs form Mozambique, Inuit marching bands, Filipino free jazz, Egyptian kabuki theater, and throat singers of the Lower East Side.

Turning over the toy box and jamming together the gloriously mismatched musical Lincoln Logs, Legos and Tinker Toys from Tin Pan Alley pluggers, pickled egg tavern weepers, lockstep soul ensembles, skinny-tie power poppers, Eurotrash ravers, moontanned art school rockers, drunken soccer anthems and anything else that seems like a good idea at the time. There are no guilty pleasures.