So. We have arrived at a point. Wet Leg have a new album out, their second. It’s called moisturizer, for reasons that escape me. The front cover is magnificent, feral and unsettling. Even if you had no idea who Wet Leg were, you’d want to buy it for this. The front cover.
I have 25 minutes to write this review. That’s when my curry is ready. 25 minutes to wax lyrical and try and add to the dialogue around something there is much dialogue around already. 25 minutes to recount my initial confusion over the duo’s name (there was a band called Wetdog in the 00s that I loved mightily), and to recall that last weekend, in Cornwall (which is like the Isle of Wight, only for real), I had a wettish leg much of the time. 25 minutes to justify my love.
I’m not going to write about the music. If you want people who can write about the music, here. Knock yourself out. Here is Pitchfork and here is Alexis at The Guardian, and doubtless they know what they’re doing, doubtless they mention queer theory and Channel 4 presenters and articulate lyricism. Sardonic, sarcastic, sinuous, sorted. Lewis Carroll, maybe a little Laura Palmer… I don’t know. Do they? I haven’t looked. I will lay odds, however, that the first, if not the second (who I have grudging respect for) call the album a “welcome reinvention”, mature, building on what went before, bright-eyed yet eerie, a cornucopia of vomitus and sometimes sincere romance, deadpan yet somehow more real for it, brazen and humorous. There is tension, there is the sense of coils of barbed wire waiting to break free of their moorings and fuck up the water supply once more. I listened to The Needle Drop’s review for around 10 seconds and he seems to be down on it. I am sure he has his reasons (but they don’t interest me).
These are women in their prime making music that reflects their self-confidence, confusion AND self-belief. Absolutely excellent. What an album! What a return to the fray! I have been watching videos of their new songs all week. Here is one.
I do not want to write about the music, but here is what AI says I had to say about Wetdog: Everett True, a music journalist, has expressed admiration for the band Wet Dog. In his writings, he has described them as “immediately hooked” and has praised their debut album as “darker, more disparate and still deadpan”. He also mentions them in the context of bands like The Vivian Girls and Softboiled Eggies, as inheritors of 1980s twee music.
Wait! I had a column for The Guardian once upon a time?!
I have just a few scant minutes left of my 25, and really would like to revisit my Rickie Lee Jones album after this, but here is what I had to say about Wet Leg four years ago…
I succumbed. I thought I’d give it a 10-second listen. Bugger it. Fuck it all to hell. I’ve played it three times already before breakfast, and want to discover more. No (he says, wrestling fiercely with his own sense of self-worth) I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR MORE. Bugger it all to hell. This is great. Deadpan and repetitive and obscure and smart and ticks all the boxes I love to have ticked in music: it builds and fades, it makes a big deal out of insignificant details, it reminds me of late 70s Ze Records, it has poise and fuck-you grace… goddamn it all. Heaven forbid I should fall for this.
Elsewhere, I wrote they were Breeders good live. That is not a epithet I use lightly. Breeders good. Not on record, but live certainly. On record, Wet Leg are Pavement third album good.
Timer’s going off. Sorry, gotta run. I hope you enjoyed the review.