Wet Leg - Moisturizer

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There’s a particular charm in seeing a band unravel a new facade of themselves. Wet Leg’s Moisturizer isn’t just a sequel, it’s a playful expansion. It doesn’t radically break from their debut release Wet Leg, but it refines and deepens what they had already started. It’s an album rooted in familiar territory with songs about messy relationships and the awkwardness created from intimacy. Much like before, the lyrics glide between tongue-in-cheek humor and genuine personal admissions.

This time around, Wet Leg are writing as a full quintet (with the addition of Josh Mobaraki, Ellis Durand, and Henry Holmes), giving their music a more textured and expressive edge. It’s a shift that doesn’t completely transform their sound, yet works in their favor. With most tracks still leaning on the same trusted Wet Leg pattern (with fuzzy guitar-led verses that slowly build and burst open during the choruses) you sometimes wish they’d shake things up a bit more. They’re exceptions though, with tracks such as “11:21” being softer and more intimate, proving that staying hushed can be just as powerful as cutting loose when creating music.

But where Moisturizer truly stands out is in how each song shows a slightly different side of the same themes. Whether it’s a crush, some doubt, playful flirting, or lazy moments spent together, every track explores these ideas in its own way. The lyrics might seem mostly like jokes, but they are honest with personal feelings hidden underneath and little moments that can surprise you.

It’s hard to overlook how much Moisturizer depends on Rhian Teasdale. Her voice ties everything together, blending irony and confidence with a soft, sometimes seductive delivery that gives even the simplest lines, an unexpected impact. She slides naturally between sharp, playful lines to softer, more vulnerable moments, filling each song with life.

Instrumentally, Moisturizer still sits comfortably between indie rock and punk’s scruffier corners. Tracks like “Liquidize” blend anxiety and desire through jittery riffs and Teasdale’s raw emotions, while “Catch These Fists” channels the defiance of garage-punk, pushing back unwanted attention with anger and sly humor. “Davina McCall” might sound like a playful pop-culture namedrop, but it unravels into something touching–a daydream built on references and sincere obsessions.

By the time you reach the gentle sway of “Pond Song” and the sleepy romance of “Pillow Talk,” it’s clear Wet Leg care just as much about quiet spaces as they do loud ones. The closer, “U and Me at Home,” ties it all together with a certain domestic warmth, suggesting real happiness isn’t a grand gesture, but a form of late-night coziness and togetherness.

Yes, the themes on Moisturizer remain the same, and the formula is largely unchanged. But this is Wet Leg playing to their strengths, polishing rough edges rather than leaping into the unknown. The album meets expectations, though it doesn’t quite exceed them, and feels like a confident next step for the band. Not the album of the year, perhaps, but a solid chapter in a story that’s still unfolding. Wet Leg has room to grow, but as Moisturizer shows, they’re on a promising path toward something even more compelling.