It feels like decades have passed since Wet Leg put the Isle Of Wight on the map with their insta-hit debut single ‘Chaise Longue’. For many bands, that kind of viral attention would become a defining pall hanging over their every musical move, instigating a ravenous touring schedule that would threaten to tear them apart, but these firebrands have done away entirely with the rock band narratives of old. moisturizer is the highly anticipated followup album to their debut, seeing Wet Leg expand to a five piece with a mature and assured actualisation of their musical voices.
There’s a slippery versatility to this album, perhaps best described by lead vocalist Rhian Teasdale: “If there's any moments on there that are a bit sexy, it's also a bit disgusting.” Songs orbit the worlds of Julia Jacklin’s avant twang or Mitski’s thespian wordplay as Wet Leg really stretch out, utilising their added musical heft without losing the spark that ignited their sudden rise. The riotously brawling ‘catch these fists’ channels a post punk Poison Ivy with right angled riffs and thrashing, clanging drums, as the band present a conviction often sorely missed from this scene.
That said, it’s the finer details that really jump out on moisturizer. Snakey lurking basslines and howling siren arpeggios uphold deadly deadpan vocals, as every guitar has the shimmer and winding profile of the 2020s post punk revival, but separated by the Solent with idiosyncrasy. The brooding ‘pillow talk’ buzzes with desire, highlighting the devilish Kubrick stare grin on the cover, while wailing shreds on ‘don’t speak’ rub against Hester Chambers’ sugary whispers, thin but warm synth lines buoy the vocals of ‘mangetout’, and the bubbly chorused guitars on ‘pokemon’ add a little punch to these reliably tactile rock and roll dramas.
Wet Leg display toothsome tenderness on an album that properly cements their status in Britain’s modern rock landscape.
