The music that Austin band My Education makes cannot be taught, but it can be imbibed. It can be poured from a pitcher or a goblet into a glass and taken orally. It can be drunk through the eyes as well, the orbs of green or brown or blue soaking up the radiance that bounces off the always-moving surface, throwing back responses and counterpoints. It's music that builds and shifts, clinging to nothing but loose directions, spit-balling where it will go next, playing on the visions of the collective to make an overpowering dynamic. You're taken over the falls or strapped to the top of a runaway semi-trailer, without a driver, tearing down a busy highway just as the moisture on the ground is reaching the freezing mark and just as the hallucinogens are kicking in. They take you off the deep end and into those day-glo waters where everything's swimming around your ankles, brushing up against your heels, not nibbling or biting, just letting you know that you're not alone and it's enough to get the adrenaline up to horse-choking levels. You feel the beads of sweat bursting out of your pores and running down your back as if you were suddenly turned into a sprinkler system. Your waistband collects all the run-off and soon enough you're feeling like you're about to explode into skin confetti, heroically or tragically shooting parts of yourself out like a weeping willow tree on fire. "End Masse," featured here in this session, is nearly nine minutes of unrelenting motion and chaos, only subsiding from its fevered pace in the last two minutes, bringing us down gently as if it had all just been scare tactics, holding us by the ankles, out of an open window, 30 stories high and then pulling us back in, shivering, but telling us, "You didn't really think I was going to drop you, did you? Oh, that's rich. I would never have done that." We still think that they would have, even after all the reassurance in the world. We know these people are crazy and we've got the trust issues to prove it.