"See, we're not a real coffee shop. We're more of a half-assed coffee shop," said the man behind the counter at Coffee Messiah. It was the only explanation he could give to the young woman who tried ordering three types of tea, only to be told they were out of each kind. She laughed and settled on a cup of chai tea before taking a seat at a table of friends already waiting for the music to start.

Coffee Messiah is a small and comfortable spot tucked between Apocalypse Hardware and Style Nail on East Olive Way. Inside, the walls are bejeweled with elaborate crosses, local art, a crucified Pee Wee Herman doll, and various other eclectic eye candy. This "half-assed" and colorful coffee shop is the perfect place to host Tuesday night's free all-ages musical showcase, Cognitive Dissidents.

"Cognitive Dissidents features music that is in some way unusual," said Ffej Mandel, its creator. "I like to use the phrase 'excessively creative' when defining some of the acts. They can be in defiance of standard conventions. A lot of the people who play here are extremely talented at what they do, and a lot of the things that they do require a great deal of skill."

Mandel began the weekly showcase in June 2001, due to the lack of options for musicians on the more experimental end of the spectrum. In its eight months, the series has continued to grow, attracting crowds that sometimes make it a tight fit in the narrow "showroom." "It was an opportunity I couldn't help but take," Mandel says. "I knew people who wanted to play music and I knew the space that would host it. I provide the connection between the two."

Cognitive Dissidents generally starts at 8:00 pm. There's no cover charge, but there is a one-drink minimum for all shows. A musician himself, Mandel has networked to draw in a number of local and touring acts. On Tuesday, January 29, Cognitive Dissidents' excessively creative acts were Terminal I.F. from Atlanta, Georgia and (r) from Italy.

As Terminal I.F. set up their table full of electronic toys and wires, an impressive spread that would make any prepubescent audio-visual-club geek wet his pants with excitement, I decided on a delicious real caramel latte and found a seat among the dozen or so others spread about the room.

At about 8:30 the lights dimmed, and Terminal I.F.'s mixture of bleeps, blops, answering-machine messages and hollers began. Two men, draped in robes for half the set and cheap thrift-store suits for the other, twisted knobs and pressed buttons to create a half hour of indescribable sound. At the end, people clapped. They'd gotten what they wanted--something that was out of the norm and outstanding.

megan@thestranger.com