Backstage at Bonnaroo, The Orwells are sprawled out in the kind of shade that only slightly postpones sunstroke. They look like a band that just woke up and might go back to sleep at any moment. It’s unclear if that’s from the heat, the hangover, or just general constitution. But once they start talking, they reveal a kind of wry, world-weary clarity that feels at odds with their age—or maybe just exactly right for it.
“Most thoughts written in two sentences aren’t that important ten minutes later,” says Mario Cuomo, in what might be the band’s entire mission statement. They’re not into Twitter. Or “micro” anything. “There’s no need to constantly update people on your every move,” he adds. “Mystery used to be a thing.”
That might explain why their newest record, Terrible Human Beings, plays like a fuzzed-out middle finger to the overshare generation. It’s sleazy, loud, surprisingly melodic, and doesn’t sound like it gives a damn whether you love it or not. Which, of course, makes it hard not to.
There’s a song on the record called “Black Francis,” which—yes—is named after that Black Francis. So naturally, the question arises: are they playing it on their upcoming tour with the Pixies?
“We won’t be playing that,” Cuomo answers, straight-faced.
“You got me there,” adds guitarist Matt O’Keefe. “It’s a very unique opportunity.” You can practically hear the band’s group text lighting up in his head. It’s not that they’re nervous about playing it in front of the man himself. It’s just that they’re not totally sure how funny it would be. Or how awkward.
The band has a way of playing it cool without ever seeming like they’re trying too hard to play it cool. They’re both disaffected and dialed in. And for a group that once made headlines for a chaotic Letterman performance, they now talk like studio rats.
“We’re businessmen in the studio,” O’Keefe says. “We don’t drink or anything when we’re recording. It’s serious.” This might come as a shock to anyone who’s only seen the Instagram version of the band, but that’s kind of the point. The Orwells are more method than mess.
“There’s a time and place for the chaos,” Cuomo adds. “We bring things from our lives into the studio, but we don’t live them in the studio.”
They’re not exactly out to make grand statements, but they’re also not allergic to meaning. “We’re not trying to write songs to make political statements,” O’Keefe clarifies. “But if it just so happens to find its way into a song and if it sounds good, cool. Like, what needs to be said, will be.”
Take “Vacation,” a deceptively breezy track that suddenly sounds a lot heavier post-election. O’Keefe shrugs it off. “There is an original idea, but if someone hears it differently now, that’s not a problem. I don’t really care that much.”
The Orwells are not here to be your protest band. But they’re also not going to slap your hand away if you find some meaning in the wreckage.
Even their darkest lyrics come half-laced with a punchline. “My friends are dead ends,” they sing on “Creatures.” Is it a joke? A warning? A confession?
“You can’t help but notice what’s going on in people’s lives,” Cuomo says. “Even if you’re doing your thing, when you see old friends or current friends struggling... how they deal with it isn’t always the best alternative.”
There’s an unexpected flicker of empathy there. “Hope and mourning?” O’Keefe says, turning it over. “Yeah, sure.”
But don’t expect the next record to be a sensitive singer-songwriter pivot. The band’s already talking about bigger, weirder sounds. “We’ve got a few tracks that we’re not sure what to do with,” Cuomo says. “They’re too different to live on this record. But maybe the next one... or maybe something else.”
What that “something else” is, they’re not saying. See: mystery.
In the meantime, they’re happy to play the hits—or what pass for hits when your last single was called “Who Needs You” and opened with a sneer. At Bonnaroo, they’ll be ripping through the new stuff alongside older cuts, basking in the heat, and probably arguing about the Pixies setlist.
The Orwells may not want to be your voice of a generation. But they’re more than willing to scream over it.
Listen to the interview above and then check out "They Put A Body In The Bayou" below!
