Wet Leg, the 2022 debut album by the UK band of the same name, primed them for unbridled success. The powder was packed tightly, potential energy built off of songwriting that was overtly funny without sacrificing any iota of instrumental intricacy, and bolstered by a few key placements of standouts like ‘Chaise Longue’ in media like Pamela Adlon’s Better Things.
Enter Moisturizer, the band’s 2025 sophomore effort – despite its amorphous name, it came through like an immaculately-executed uppercut to follow the jab of their debut. One of the not-so-secret weapons driving the album home is Dan Carey of Speedy Wunderground – while the album was not released via that label or produced in his notably-rigorous one-day recording cycle, Carey has a Midas-like touch that permeates everything here. He’s as comfortable on this pop end of post-punk as he is in the frantic impenetrability of guitars and drums of other clients such as black midi or Squid.
While the debut album featured co-founders Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers facing away from the camera in a mutual embrace, from the very album cover of Moisturizer it’s clear they’re leaning into a different dynamic, one echoed by the stage setup for the tour. Teasdale is front and center for both – Chambers appears on the record facing away once again, this time embracing herself with some startlingly-long nails; onstage she’s situated back and to Teasdale’s right. But it’s Teasdale’s toothy grin at the heart of it all that is the tone of everything from music through to performance – a look that should be in the dictionary alongside Oxford’s 2022 Word of the Year [not kidding] – pure “Goblin Mode”. Smile, eyes, stance – all of it exudes an unmistakable, quasi-otherworldly level of mischief.
Onstage that same smile is, for lack of a better term, bedazzled with jewels; she wields an effortlessly-cool translucent green guitar, and an outfit similar to that which she wears on the album, rounded out by bright white trainers accented with Hermes-like wings. The band walks on in hazy orange lighting, but most of the night features bright backlights that are just as intense as the way Teasdale and company portray relationships and things surrounding them: fisticuffs, being struck down by love, and dialing 999 [the UK’s 911 equivalent] for resuscitation.
Two of the opening songs of their set highlight one of the trends of the album – the rounded “O” sounds of ‘Oh No’ and the odd affectation Teasdale plants on the “Man Down…” refrain of flagship ‘Catch These Fists’ all give the record a vocal identity as unique as its sense of humor. In ‘Davina McCall’ as well as ‘Fists’ she winds her arms above her head in different bits of choreography, both times lit only from the rear of the stage, leaving her as a powerful silhouette posed center-stage, statuesque and still save for her hair billowing in the breeze from a fan below.
While it’s definitely Teasdale at the locus of everything, songs like ‘Being in Love’ would be nothing without the soaring vocal Chambers provides. And one would be remiss to overlook the infectious complexity of the band’s instrumentals and their ability to create a varied sound. The back half of the set in particular features more changes in tempo – ‘Too Late Now’ from the debut starts slow, Chambers and Teasdale at the back of the stage together, but turns at its midsection into a rushdown stream-of-consciousness from the latter. The ensuing ‘11:21’ maintains a slower gait, and with Teasdale washed out by the most powerful rays of white light all night, she stands and presides over a room that’s slowly filling with bubbles from machines on either side of the stage.
‘U and Me at Home’ closes Moisturizer, but here it signals that the evening has entered its final act. The song, elevated by an entire crowd singing the titular refrain, feels like a warm hug – it admittedly didn’t stand out much to me on the record, but in this context it absolutely clicks and feels like one that might remain a staple of the Wet Leg live set for ages. Speaking of, they’ve saved a potent handful of much-anticipated tunes at the end of the night. First is ‘Chaise Longue’ with its raunchy humor and wordplay. American public schools have managed to teach me not only what a chaise lounge is, but also that this intentional misspelling of that phrase is additionally odd, as traditionally adjectives dealing with size, like “longue”, are placed before the noun they describe, not after. Does this piece of trivia matter? No, but just let me have this – it makes for a good rhyme in a silly, fun song that hinges on an all-time favorite guitar pattern.
‘Mangetout’ employs some playful French as well, being both the word for “snow peas”, as well as a concatenation of “Man, get out” – which Teasdale hopes for throughout the song, which recounts her dealing with a particularly annoying would-be hanger-on. And finally we get to closer ‘CPR’, where Teasdale picks up the sort of Chekov’s Red Phone that’s been sitting onstage the entire night. “Is it love? Or suicide?” she asks again and again. Either way, it’s going to require mouth-to-mouth. There’s perhaps no more succinct encapsulation of the premise of this album – the line between pleasure and pain is thin and can flip at any moment; but in spite of that, there’s not much to be done but have whatever fun you can with this conundrum.
Photos and words by Collin Heroux