Gig review: Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark at First Direct Arena

“I know all the blokes are p***ed off because the wife dragged them here when they’d rather be at Elland Road,” Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark frontman Andy McCluskey quips early in their show at Leeds’s First Direct Arena. “But it’s still 1-0 to you!”

Behind him, reading glasses perched precariously, co-founder Paul Humphreys grins and shakes his head.

To suggest OMD are a band rejuvenated would be to dismiss their steady stream of impressive post-millennial output. Nevertheless, last year’s Bauhaus Staircase delivered career-best results in terms of commercial success, setting the stage for a tour that will see the Merseyside stalwarts headline London’s The O2 for the first time this month.

Such longevity pays testament to their decades-long influence. Despite not hitting some of the heights enjoyed by their peers – McCluskey enjoyed broader fame with girl group Atomic Kitten – they have been cited by acts as diverse as Radiohead, AFI, Deftones and No Doubt. Their legacy remains an enviable one, burnished with some of synth-pop’s most lasting gems in their back pocket.

Much in the vein of Eighties contemporary Rick Astley, who played this enormo-venue less than a fortnight prior, those hits are parcelled out with even-handed equanimity throughout this show, next to a healthy smattering of modern-day material.

OMD remain determined to sidestep pure nostalgia, and do so with plenty of reunion-era releases; stuff like Kleptocracy and Don’t Go might not marshall the same response, but they still exert their own kinetic draw.

Still, trips into their back catalogue are still wonderfully frequent, served up with metronomic beats and twinkling keyboard flourishes.

McCluskey and Humphries, both in their mid-sixties, remain performers in fine voice, and even finer humour; the former is nonplussed when a pair of lacy red briefs are hurled at him during If You Leave, but the latter is even more bemused when a white sports sock is flung his way when he ventures out during Forever (Live and Die).

Throughout, the pair chat with the cheerful patter of northern comics, and recall old memories of the city, including the legendary Futurama Festival at the long-demolished Queens Hall. “Resistance is futile!” McCluskey cries, amid a euphoric last stretch that packs in Dreaming, Locomotion and the endorphin rush of Enola Gay.

By the time they encore with Electricity, it certainly is; Leeds may have won, but nobody wants to be at Elland Road right now.