The Modern Skirts played at 1982 Bar on Wednesday (Oct. 28). Congratulations to our free-tickets winner! To those who didn't make it, here's how it went down.

By Jon Silman; Photos by Sarah Hsu

1982 is a little bigger than my apartment. My apartment is a little bigger than a nice-sized, walk-in closet. There was a show there on Wednesday. You missed it. It's my job to tell you all about it because you were doing other things, and maybe next time the Old Ceremony or The Modern Skirts come around, you'll go see them. If I don't operate under this assumption, my whole journalistic system breaks down.

The bar has black walls the same way that Johnny Cash wore black pants. Seriously. A checkerboard white floor. A sound system so strong, the only way I can describe it is akin to putting a Ferrari engine on a tractor. Sure it's impressive, but is it necessary?

It's always nerve wracking the first few moments when you walk into a bar. Suddenly, you're in a loud, boisterous environment. A deer in the headlights. I walk to the bar and order a red bull. Jay (singer from Modern Skirts) is sitting next to me. I avoid eye contact but smile politely. There's an Asian man screaming into a microphone and playing a huge keyboard. I break the ice with Jay by telling him that maybe the huge keyboard is the young man's way of compensating for something else.

He smiles. It's loud in here, and I have to lean in and basically yell into his ear to say anything. We both say everything a minimum of three times. My friend arrives and orders a beer from the other side of the bar, before joining Jay and I. JoJo (keyboards) and I meet for the first time and hug emphatically. I know him from the interview, so we're trial-by-fire friends.

Jay is either really drunk or really happy. He's a charming, funny guy. He points to his tongue and implies that this band would be better if we were on acid. We talk about Bea Arthur.

"She's dead," he says.

"No shit! Really?"

"Yeah man."

We talk about the certain type of people who are storming Gainesville for the fest. He says they're called gutter punks.

The Old Ceremony hits the stage. Okay, they walk on. There was no hitting involved when they walked onto the stage. The singers name is Django, and his dad is my professor.

Django grew up in Gainesville. The band's based out of Chapel Hill and they're on tour with the Skirts. He has a deep, romantic voice and a white man's swagger. It's moody music for a smoky room. I was really impressed with these guys. Professor Haskins has strong cheekbones that make him look like an older, wiser Eddie Vedder. He's rocking a leather jacket and drinking red wine. He has to be the only guy in here drinking out of a wine glass. Plus, he named his son Django. What a badass.

The Old Ceremony plays a very literal song about plate tectonics. When I say literal, I mean he introduced the song as "about plate tectonics." The first line was something about the ground moving below our feet. There's no way to stop it. Plate tectonics. I'm assuming it's a metaphor for something, so I ask Django about it. He tells me that a fourth grade teacher uses it to illustrate plate tectonics to her students, but yes, it's a metaphor. I'm confused by this. What a jokester.

So...The Modern Skirts are loud. They sound huge. Remember Mega Man 1 where you fight the rock guy? He throws boulders at you. That's how I feel. The skirts are throwing boulders of percussive awesomeness at me. They're too big for the room. It's almost escapism in its presentation. Here are these guys, banging away at these instruments in a very primal way. It gets me thinking about my own animal urges, and how maybe I shouldn't try so hard to hide them. They present crisp vocal melodies over thumping piano and bass licks. I think these guys may break through. Who knows what the future holds? You should look up The Modern Skirts. 

For some reason, there's a guy shirtless, covered in war paint walking around. I want to follow him into the desert.

After the show, and in honor of our interview, JoJo makes up an impromptu mad lib. It was ridiculously obscene, and these guys have taken mad libbing into the neighborhood of art form. They use compound words, elegant phrases for nouns and verbs. For your enjoyment, I've included it here (sans our nouns and verbs. I would get fired forever). Use your imagination.

Horatio had a bad day. His (noun) got stuck in the hot (noun) for almost a half hour. Then the (adj.) hammer (verb) all the way down the (noun).

Have fun with that.

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