More about: Wet Leg

I remember being absolutely stoked to hear that I was reviewing the latest Wet Leg. Here was an indie band who had produced four knockout singles and - gasp - didn’t take themselves too seriously. Lobsters and laser guns littered the imaginations of Rhian Teasedale and Hester Chambers; two musicians from the Isle of Wight who had phased out of their folk origins and dipped their toes into the post-punk revival. 

Wet Leg aren’t difficult to understand, and yet they were quick to confound. Young TikTokers were unimpressed by the Mean Girl references; social media branded them generic (a somewhat accurate representation). But then the BRIT awards came, and Wet Leg proved to be one of the most entertaining acts of the night. 

First, they staged an all-female Morris dance performance extravaganza of ‘Chaise Longue’, and capped the night off by reciting Alex Turner’s 2014 BRIT speech, word for word. Viewers were not amused: “a very lazy attempt at causing controversy or getting some attention”, one commenter wrote. Even if the moment wasn’t as impactful as Alex Turner’s original, you get the sense that there’s some underlying misogyny amongst these comments, which has fed into the hype surrounding Wet Leg. 

Still, Wet Leg garnered fans as quickly as they arose. Harry Styles covered ‘Wet Dream’ and invited them on tour. Hayley Williams lauded ‘Oh No’ as her most beloved track. Barack Obama added ‘Angelica’ to his growing list of suspiciously zeitgeisty music favourites. The pair would be nominated for three Grammys and win two: Best Alternative Music Performance, and Best Alternative Music Album, despite not even knowing what the Grammys were...

"Listening to the album in full, I seem to have forgotten approximately half of the tracklist, and found myself warming to exactly none..."

Being a Wet Leg fan means going through a strange cycle of admiration and annoyance - and I find myself falling into the same patterns revisiting the debut album that started it all. I’ll admit, certain moments have paled once the hype of the press has passed. ‘Ur Mum’, for instance, feels less like a cleverly scathing insult, and more like a blatantly calculated break-up anthem, cathartic scream and all. Listening to the album in full, I seem to have forgotten approximately half of the tracklist, and found myself warming to exactly none. 

But the singles - the singles! They’re undoubtedly a bag of fun, all the more pronounced amidst the swamp of sleepy deep cuts. Who cares if it’s not particularly meaningful? Who cares if it’s nonsense? Aren’t you also exhausted of the onslaught of suffocating intimacy and authenticity that pop artists offer to us, like a cat that drops a limp rat on your lap as you suffer through a Slack conversation? 

I’m tired of being emotionally guilted into liking music. It’s my most personal album!, I hear pop stars beg, wringing their wrists. Please listen to my music and buy my merchandise and pity meeeeee. Enough, Demi. Wet Leg’s debut album isn’t particularly consistent in quality, and it’s not emotionally deep, but it doesn’t need to be. It’ll serve as a much-needed reminder to the British public that bears repeating: loosen up and have some fun, for fuck’s sake. 

Read the original review HERE

Grab your copy of the Gigwise print magazine here.

More about: Wet Leg