The band performs at London’s Scala.

Scala beams up the street in its usual manner, the stoic facade tells little of the madness going down inside this March evening. The Orwells take on the London establishment as the last stop of their European tour supporting the release of their third studio album Terrible Human Beings.

The Chicago masters of chaos enter the stage following a pompous theatrical intro. “We’re The Orwells from Chicago, and this is our last night here!” they announce as they dive headfirst into Black Francis. Their compact structure of noisy rock blasts through the air as Mario Cuomo lashes his body towards the crowd in desperate attempts to embody the lyrics with every fibre of his being.

Briefly leaving the stage to suit up, Cuomo returns dressed in a golden glittery blazer, a hyperbole contrast to the down and dirt rock these guys lay out. The shrieking guitar intro of Dirty Sheets the crowd go mad in a perfect mirroring of guys on stage. Cuomo takes the front man duty to the next level as his self-indulgent frolicking and half-mad outbursts, mixed in with his tendency to dramatics, serves up the most bizarre, genuine and slightly terrifying stage character I’ve witnessed.

The single of their latest offering, Terrible Human Beings, They Put A Body In The Bayou excels with thundering basslines, The Orwells‘ ever-present crooning guitars and a knife-sharp drumbeat, keeping the madness at bay.

Cuomo announces “some comfortable old broken ones for you” with sophomore classic, Let It Burn. The reckless abandon that manifests within The Orwells melodies is harnessed to it’s full potential, giving Dominic Corso and Matt O’Keefe’s guitar to work complimentary to each other, opposed to the usual hammering away. Given the space to play out in a prolonged instrumental, it is clear that The Orwells can play tight, if they really want to.

Letting the anticipation and energy soar the air for a second, they soon play up “another one from our massive hype days”. “Massive hype days?” a guy behind me asks, “Well, that’s what he says”.

Known for balancing the narrow line between chaos and control, The Orwells have many times stuck the middle finger to authority. “If you put your hands on these kids before me I will physically fuck you up in front of all these nice kids. Never put your hands on the kids you fucker.” Coumo screams at a security guard. Though the crowd might be of the rowdier sort, The Orwells certainly got their back.

South Comfort’s smashing drum intro sparks up the mood and the tune sees Mario ride through the room on a tidal wave of fans. An ultimate fuck you to and rule or authoritative statement. Returning to the stage, catching his breath – “let’s keep it going. We’re almost there”.

Though their anthem Who Needs You is satisfying in every way, the crowd dazing in the moshpit fuelled endorphin rush, The Orwells‘ overall set comes across as slightly monotone. With musical explorations kept to a minimum, their soundscape stays safe within their comfort zone.

Raw, high-energy rock and roll certainly excels live, yet I’d live to see The Orwells reach further into their own potential. Taking time for a prolonged instrumental, it is clear that though they are tight played at times,  it lacks that certain something.

As Cuomo leaves it to the rest of the band to finish the set, the anti-climax is a fact. The fans still dare shouting for more, and in spite of a weird set-finish, The Orwells won’t deny an encore.  “Thank you, thank you so much. This song is from our first record” they announce, gazing over the crowd. “Whatever is going on over there, go for it.” And as the moshpits are egged on the launch into Head. Ending off the gig in a bombastic manner with thundering drums and a screaming Cuomo, the horror show is a fact.

Reaching the final song of the night – “Now you get another one for being so good”, The Orwells do what they do best, blasting out in a grandiose gesture of sparkling anarchy, with Cuomo climbing the venue’s balcony in a mad state of dare devilness. And as the air fills with amp reverb and the steam of sweat slowly fades, it’s little to say but that if anything, The Orwells know how to put on a fucking show.

Photos: Aurora Henni Krogh