More about: Wet Leg

It’s curious that the arrival of Wet Leg has engendered such an intense public reception. For every accusation of ‘industry plant’ lobbed at the Isle of Wight band, there’s success after success: they’d sold out their entire US tour with just two songs, and later snagged coveted spots on Jools Holland and NPR’s Tiny Desk.

In the eye of the storm were Rhian Teasedale and Hester Chambers, nearing the end of their twenties, singing silly, nonsensical rock songs. Although their sound leans towards a digestible (some may say sanitised) version of the post-punk revival, Wet Leg’s self-titled debut gleefully indulges in the cardinal rule of pop music: have fun, for fuck’s sake. 

It all started with ‘Chaise Longue’, released in June 2021. The absurdist Mean Girls reference (‘Is your muffin buttered?’) confounded listeners, almost appalled at the idea that such lyricism could be considered ‘music’ (a rather melodramatic TikTok user announced: "I’d rather be in Ukraine than hear this again"). But it’s the apathy for being meaningful that makes the track so liberating. Soon enough, you’ll be reciting the punky phonetics of the chorus whimsically throughout your day, a lone kick drum flashing in your imagination, giving way to that wonderfully discordant breakdown. 

Wet Leg extends beyond this surrealism with impressive lyrical versatility. The pair spit insults with biting venom ("When I think about what you’ve become/I feel sorry for your mum") and look upon despondent social scenes with wry humour ("I don’t want to follow you on the gram/I don’t want to listen to your band"). Sometimes, they’re painfully in touch with whatever zeitgeisty bullshit fails to escape their exacting eye (listen to the entirety of ‘Too Late Now’). In fact, they don’t even need words: one of the most entertaining moments is the climax of ‘Ur Mum’—a countdown into a blood-curdling, demon-exorcising scream after excoriating a shitty ex.

That’s not to say they’re lyrical genius: Wet Leg’s writing often feels like it’s the first thing that’s made the girls laugh. Occasionally, that becomes all too obvious with eye-roll metaphors ("Like a piece of shit, you either sink or float"), or clunky phrasing ("Bioluminescent plankton shit"). The repetition becomes mind-numbing on some tracks, too: ‘Supermarket’ quickly runs out of steam after the second round of "We got too high! High!".

At its best, Wet Leg is full of spunky, dramatic performances that contrast restricted, quiet verses with loose, fiery choruses. Opener ‘Being In Love’ listlessly articulates every depressing thought Teasedale has, justifying it with its guiltily liberating chorus. Every single line on ‘Wet Dream’ is propelled forward by catchy melodies. The handclaps, the guitar interjections, and grooving bassline elevate the minimalist verses, creating a hilariously jeering send-off to a creep. Meanwhile, the build-up on closer ‘Too Late Now’ features a spoken-word snowball of catastrophising, tumbling into a hurricane of nihilistic admissions, distortion, and crash cymbals. 

Alas, the six singles that have been released disguise the more underwhelming side of this album, a slacker-rock sound that lets down the energy instead of releasing it. ‘Loving You’ showcases some excellent lyricism, but it’s incomprehensible beneath the shrill, meek vocal performance from Teasedale. Meanwhile, Chambers’ solo on ‘Convincing’ features some Courtney Barnett-inspired instrumentals, with some plain songwriting to boot. Admittedly, I find slacker-rock difficult to digest—and fans who prefer that sound might be delighted with such cuts. Unfortunately, these tracks lack the personality of the spontaneous yet smart writing of their more upbeat tracks. 

For those attracted to their sharp lyricism and upbeat dance tunes, the more lethargic cuts might catch you off-guard.  But taken as a whole, Wet Leg is an impressive beginning for the band. Amongst the suffocating smog of mediocre indie rock bands, Wet Leg’s fusion of a strong lyrical identity, straightforward sound, and fun-loving philosophy results in a self-titled album that’s frankly, a breath of fresh air. 

Wet Leg arrives 8 April via Domino Recordings.

Grab your copy of the Gigwise print magazine here.

More about: Wet Leg