What the actual fuck? You’re from the fucking Isle of Wight! What’s this rogue ‘Z’ doing in the album title?? Moisturiser, please! What would King Arwald say, the last pagan king in England and last king of the Isle of Wight? You really think that’s going to break you in America??
Actually… top 50 album in the US…? That’s… not to be sniffed at at all…
OK, carry on, you obviously all know what you’re doing.
I’d managed to avoid Wet Leg until this, with nary a stray Legit Boss mention for the (previous) two piece. They always struck me as something of a ‘Hype’ band, one that I’m sure had overwhelming charisma and star quality, but one I was convinced had misty eyed critics placing perhaps undue praise upon in the desperate need for something. I always kinda suspected they were a bit of a ‘meme band, more concerned with quirky musical soundbites that could be shared on TikTok rather than truly affecting music. And, erm, also I thought that they and Dry Cleaning were the same band. And I’d listened to that Dry Cleaning album a lot in 2021 and it hadn’t really connected with me. Hey! Listen! That album was released the same year as Wet Leg’s debut! And it was called ‘New Long Leg‘!! Fuckin’… legs, man!! I’m really not to blame here, and it paints a damning picture of the lines of communication between 2021’s notable British indie bands. Yes, I am aware that the Isle of Wight doesn’t have the internet yet, but surely these people still get the New Musical Express delivered??
Anyway, I just happened across the video to catch these fists some time in April and immediately rolled onto my back and presented myself in my most submissive pose. Yes, please, here I am, I am now officially on this bandwagon. Take me.
And catch these fists is one of a handful of songs on this cocksure and coolly confident second record that is an absolute, undisputable, fucking banger. There are a handful of songs on this album that makes me want to tear my own skin off in celebration of the wild euphoria that has been ignited within me.
A lot of the tracks are… Yeah, pretty decent… Quite Britpoppy…? It’s impossible to deny that, without Rhian Teasdale‘s voice, lyrics, and God-dang presence, a lot of Wet Leg’s songs would be extremely ordinary.
But what is the point in these kind of statements? If The Beatles didn’t have Paul McCartney they wouldn’t be as good. If Public Enemy didn’t have Chuck D – and there albums were entirely composed of Flava Flav shouting “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah booooooooooyeeeeI!!!!” for 45 minutes – then they wouldn’t be held in such high regard. If Marvin Gaye was called Marvin Faggote, he wouldn’t be as well regarded today, what with the changing public sensibilities and all. If Bob Dylan had a puckered anus where his mouth should be, his music career would not have panned out the way it did. And instead of a guitar he had a, like, baby cow. And rather than playing it – which would be significantly more difficult to do with a baby cow as opposed to a guitar – he just flicked it in the eyeball every now and then to elicit a high pitched squeal. Not in tune or anything, just at completely random intervals: “Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood, with his memories in a trunk, passed this (WEEEEEEEAAAAAAK!!!) way an hour ago“. Do you think he would be as successful? I don’t.
“Things would be different if things were different” is not a worthwhile thing to say!
Because – ba-Gahd! – we’re lucky enough to live in a reality where Rhian Teasdale is absolutely motherfucking here.! She’s a frontperson amazing enough to ensure that no song she ever appears on can be boring, and also to make good songs great. Give her a great song and… Well, I’ve already talked about my submissive pose. By being fronted by Teasdale, Wet Leg manage to create magic that’s witty and unserious without ever feeling irreverent – you have to be very serious to make yourself sound so silly. Likewise, Teasdale’s lyrics are able to roll eyes at society’s imbedded nonsense, while also being aware of the very real risks that exist in the current patriarchal structure. The aforementioned catch these fists might be a bit of a silly song (“We’re on our way to the club/Stupid is, stupid does/Limousine, rackin’ up/Ketamine, giddy up”) but it does represents real concerns that Teasdale had about women not being able to physically defend themselves against the near ever present danger. In general ‘moisturizer’, might be extremely playful and overloaded with Millennialcore references (Davina McCall! Pokemon! Jennifer’s Body! The Demon fucking Headmaster!!) but there is still a beating heart and a real earnestness at its core.
Or, whatever, Dry Cleaning’s new album is out in January, pretty sure it’s more or less the same thing.
The lumpenproletariat are not as impressed, only going as high as 74.
Necessary Evil 
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