THE ORWELLS live at The Dome in London.

“Orwells, Orwells, Orwells”, the rhythmic chants start long before the set time, and anticipation is undermining the buzz that has captured this crowd at The Dome Tufnell Park this evening.

The Chicago outfit enters the stage face first, confident and ready for a rowdy one. It’s The Orwells‘ first London gig in two years and judging by the crowd’s reaction, and the fact that the gig is completely sold out, they have been missed.

Kicking off with Dirty Sheets from their debut, Remember When, The Orwells have the audience moshing from first seconds. With frolicking frontman, Mario Cuomo, the band has an alter ego embodying every lyrical line and sardonic twist. The crowd’s surfing and consistent jumping is just as relentless as The Orwells‘ powering tune, ploughing on with such a force that even if mistakes were made they’d be long gone by the time you notice.

The set consists of selected hits from their debut, Remember When, and sophomore album, Disgraceland, as well as tunes from the upcoming Terrible Human Beings, due to be released in February next year.

No time to waste for pleasantries the band dive straight into recent single, They Put A Body in The Bayou. The rhythmical drumbeat builds a foundation for the punchy tune to grow on, escalating into a mayhem of whiny guitars and rough bass-lines. It’s a live version that put the recorded one to shame, it’s hard to tape this kind of energy.

Cuomo’s attitude-display and stage-strolling, accompanied with his reckless vocals and the band’s collected effort makes The Orwells a beacon of recklessness and cocky attitudes. Much like their fellow Chicago group, Twin Peaks, they stand up for some disgrace of authorities. All in the name of some good old fun, right?

At one point Mario Cuomo leans over the audience, “I freak out. Do you like us? Do you really like us?” he snarls, looking half-mad whilst glaring at the 600 people who have turned up.

The Orwells sledgehammer through the set, barely stopping from a breath. Next up is Let It Burn the anthem of carelessness. Having the audience on their toes with its ground-breaking, sweat-dripping, floor-slipping guitar work, magnificent effort by Dominic Corso and Matt O’Keefe. Thier complimenting guitar-effort is the highlight of the show, proving that two guitars are indeed better than one, when done right that is. Cuomo’s dragged out vocals and half-lazy, cheeky attitude fall flat against the musical effort given by his band mates on this tune.

The band’s breakthrough tune, Mallrats (La La La)‘s raw power is one of the set’s definite highlights with sweat-dripping, hair-flicking Cuomo in the middle of it all, staring down the crowd as he coons “Yeah there’s a chick I saw. Everything she get it all. She’s like a crystal ball. We gonna show’em all”.

Following up with Southern Comfort, Henry Brinner’s drum intro gives you just a second to brace yourself before hell breaks loose in a bliss of reckless abandon. Brinner’s percussion is overall an essential part of the show in all its modesty, giving the cues to the moshers and giving the rattling chaos some coherency.

At some point even Mario Cuomo himself loses the track of the expeditious set, “what the fuck are we even playing next”, he asks to the audience amusement whilst letting the band takes control of the chaos once more, pumping out tunes like their life depended on it.

The Righteous One‘s instrumental bridge gives the space to show off their musical tightness in all its glory. The colliding guitars match up with the punchy bassline, the courtesy of Grant Brinner. Though the flamboyant front Cuomo puts up, the rest of the band are considerably more held back, keeping the show together.

As we round off the hour-long race of a set with encore Who Needs You, all cautiousness is set aside. Cuomo himself climbs on top of the speakers, leaning against the ceiling whilst spitting the lyric down at the frantic crowd. Saving the best for the last the band puts all their effort in as the familiar riff kicks up even the most held-back dancer. Finalising in cascades of noise and sweat, The Orwells have certainly done what they came here for.

Photos: Aurora Henni Krogh