Revenge of the Eighties Babies

Alison Moyet, Brigitte Calls Me Baby, and the nostalgia that powers the future.

Blue-Eyed Dressed, Pretty in Pink: Alison laid 'em out at the Vic Theater, Chicago, May 7, 2025

Spy magazine, where have you gone? The short-fingered grasp around our collective throat has never been tighter. Yet, right when we need it most, it seems to be the only thing from the ’80s that hasn’t been resurrected, reexamined, or kept alive on IP-life support in some hideous new form. Spy’s snark is alive and well—but its lethal precision? Gone. And the vulgarians are inside the gates. The worst timeline indeed.

So let us dwell on something forged in the fiery pits of the ’80s and still smolders along pleasantly today:

Alison Moyet’s voice.

Good old Alf brought her bluesy, throaty, full-frontal vocal dynamics to the Vic Theatre a few weeks ago and knocked ’em dead—or at least unconscious. Lady Moyet was forced to stop the show because someone GOT WEAK IN THE PRESENCE OF BEAUTY and dropped like a sack of old bagels right there in front of center stage.

My God, have we all gotten so old?

Turning up the house lights, Alison took a break while security dragged this poor thing out by its ankles before 40 years of back catalog could continue. Backed by two multi-instrumentalists, she reworked her solo efforts, but ended with a faithful trio of Yaz’s best beeping and booping. I couldn’t help wondering how many times “Situation” was played at our beloved Berlin, one popper bottle’s throw from the stage on which she performed. “Good Times” indeed.

Don't Stop Now: Alison keeps the Yazthems alive.

But the ’80s aren’t just for us old, ossified relics. Look no further than that swooner-crooner Wes Leavins.

A million copies of the 1980s: Guitarist Trevor Lynch and Singer Wes Leavins from Brigitte Calls Me Baby at the f Theater, Chicago, May 10, 2025

Fronting Brigitte Calls Me Baby at the Riv, the Texas-born singer channels Elvis—as he did both in Million Dollar Quartet on stage in New York and on the soundtrack for Baz Luhrmann's weird Elvis biopic. But his own band deserves a lot more attention. It's Elvish, yes, but with post-punk, pre-AltRockQ101 sensibility. In fact, I was at the Echo & the Bunnymen show at the same theater about a year ago, and Leavins was seated in the balcony, pad and paper in hand, either taking notes or writing a suicide note (I give it even odds). Because when you see him, it’s not Elvis or Ian McCulloch you’ll recognize. It’s Morrissey. No wonder BCMB will open for him during some upcoming European gigs. It's the first opening act Moz has had in ages.

Let's look at the Moz-Leavins connective tissue: an obsession with film stars from a long-forgotten era (the “Brigitte” in the band’s name is Brigitte Bardot, FYI), the cumulus quiff, the billowing blouses. And, yet again, there’s a connection with the King. I still find it hilarious that Morrissey had the audacity to use Elvis as the "cover star" of the Shoplifters of the World Unite single.

Sure, BCMB's overall sound channels 80s inspo, picking up where the Killers seem to have left off. Part New Romantic, part pop-rock, part awkward teen singing in his bedroom. But, like Moyet, it's all about the voice....that voice, that knee-weakening voice.

Leavins—strawberry blondish, slender as a gladiolus stalk—left his blouse teasingly open on stage, revealing a tattooed chest and a fragile heart on his tender, tender sleeve. At last, here's someone who once again able to sing as if your life depends on it. He gilds every lyric with the Morrissian pathos of darkly romantic comedy:

“Decapitation and masturbation / Don’t go hand in hand / Few things are sadder / Than the tragic death of a woman / and her man,”

he sings in Pink Palaces. Later, in I Want to Die in the Suburbs, teenage hearts beat with sweet, sad, suicidal syncopation:

“I want to die in your four-car garage/Turn out the lights/And then send in the entourages/Tell them it’s okay/As I made my big escape/But I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die—alone.”

And a million dead Molly Ringwalds follow in his wake. Yet I soldier on, looking for the 80s where I can find it: At least until I see Grace Jones and Janelle Monet at Ravinia. Then I promise to really get into Sabrina Carpenter or whatever.

Hello, dramatic: Brigitte on Stage the Riv May 12, 2025

P.S. Brigitte Calls Me Baby plays Metro on June 20, but tickets are, heartbreakingly, already sold out. If you have an extra, phone me, phone me, phone me. I'll be here. Wherever that is. --Messrs. Dallow, Spicer, et. al.