My musical evaluations have lately become almost populist in their leanings. This seems like the sort of deficiency that consciousness can repair, if only it can be freed from the mire of laziness it has lately grown used to occupying. More Monday nights spent at Ming's Cafe would be a start, perhaps, but what is always disheartening to me about live music is its tendency to retrospectively engender the always-hovering question "What did that music *sound* like?" My closeness to the happening of the music, the inevitability of its creation, imposes upon any live experience a texture of feeling that precludes perspective. And so I emerge from the cafe unable to annotate what I listened to, reduced to adjectival exclamations of "That was great music", "That kicked ass."; exclamations uttered in a voice I identify as being my least sincere. What did I feel?