Josie’s on vacation far away. Come around and talk it over.
The opening lines to The Outfield’s “Your Love” implore the packed house at Duffy’s Tavern and Grille (420 ½ W. Diversey) to take part in an illicit encounter with a dude whose girlfriend is way out of town, and on Wednesday night the people respond favorably. Eager screams and empty glasses dominate the spacious bar’s back room topography. I feel my own fist inexplicably rise above my head and begin to pump back and forth. Two young women rush up to the stage, and then they climb onto it.
Perhaps we are so excited about being prompted to commit adultery because the suggestion comes from Louis Stigwood, enigmatic nerd vocalist for The Spazmatics, Chicago’s best 80’s New Wave Synthpop cover band, the band that has played Duffy’s Tavern and Grille every Wednesday night for nearly five years.
Donning his trademark suspenders, horn-rimmed glasses and rainbow propeller hat, Louis fits right in – at least on stage. His fellow band-mates are garbed in white button-down shirts, ties of varying lengths and widths, a protective helmet, slicked back hair and, of course, pocket protectors; these rockers appear more likely to subscribe to Mental_Floss than to Rolling Stone. The cumulative effect of the motif and their outstanding stage presence sets The Spazmatics apart from any band you’ve seen in the last ten – wait, make that twenty-five – years. They’re an hommage to the great New Wave bands of the 80’s, bands like Devo, The Buggles, and Men At Work, who celebrate nerd culture instead of stepping on it.
Importantly, beyond costumes, synchronized dance moves, and over-the-top ribald banter, The Spazmatics are solid musicians who consistently put on a good show. Louis’ impressive vocal range allows the band to transition seamlessly from Billy Idol to Cyndi Lauper, while Shureman Larusso’s guitar shredding always makes me stop and appreciate, about four dollar-beers in, how these guys are talented, and how I’m lucky to live in a city that houses professional cover bands.
The night wears on but the music keeps coming. It’s nearly one in the morning, and everybody knows that this set will soon end. The band starts up one of my favorite songs, The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven,” with Shureman on the mic; I go crazy, I am afforded extra personal space, and then they say goodnight as the last reverb fizzles away. The DJ starts to play Top 50 radio jams. Duffy’s is somber for a drunken mass of young people. We’re somber because the night is over, because the Brown Line is no longer running, and because, for almost a whole week, it is no longer 1985. Thankfully, sometimes The Spazmatics play Friday nights at Uncle Fatty’s Rum Resort (2833 N. Sheffield). Let’s be grateful for small mercies.
To learn more about The Spazmatics, follow them on Facebook, check out their recently renovated website, www.chicagospazmatics.com, or come to Duffy’s next Wednesday. We’ll all be there.
