66 THENEWYORKER,APRIL11, 2022
POP MUSIC
DUMB FUN
The glorious lightness of Wet Leg.
BY AMANDAPETRUSICH
PHOTOGRAPH BY ELIZABETH RENSTROM
F
or a brief moment last spring, when
securing a vaccination appointment
no longer felt like winning some sort
of lunatic lottery, and Covid-19 cases
had convincingly, if temporarily, re-
ceded, it seemed as though Americans
were collectively poised for a grand re-
turn to pleasure. Remember pleasure?
People were talking about the much
anticipated centennial of the Roaring
Twenties, and about the imminence of
a so-called Hot Vax Summer. The hope
was that, after months of confinement
and terror, we might carouse and frolic
again, retire the elbow bump in favor
of the full-body embrace, have a little
fun. In the end, those proclamations
were premature, and a clumsy misread-
ing of the cultural moment. Shaking
off mass death wasn’t so easy. What
followed was more like Trying-Our-
Best Summer.
For some people, the pandemic
ended up changing the contours of
their social lives in a more permanent
way. Why return to the pre-quaran-
tine slog of deafening bars, intermina-
ble poetry readings, and awkward din-
ner parties? What about cutting loose
at home, maybe with one excellent
friend over? Wet Leg, the duo of Rhian
Teasdale and Hester Chambers, makes
party music for adults who are down
to hang but are tired of getting cor-
nered by an oversharer near a sweat-
ing tub of supermarket hummus, or
having to athletically jockey for a bar-
tender’s attention, or spending seventy-
five dollars moving from club to club
in a series of careering taxicabs. It’s
hard to think of a sentiment more ger-
mane to our collective, post-traumatic
disillusionment than “It used to be so
fun/Now everything just feels dumb/I
wish I could care.” The line comes from
“I Don’t Wanna Go Out,” a track on
“Wet Leg,” the band’s long-awaited
first album, which is being released
this month.
Teasdale and Chambers are plainly
having a very good time making each
other laugh, and anyone else’s enjoy-
ment of their salty, lackadaisical indie
rock feels almost incidental. The duo
met a decade ago, in college, on the
Isle of Wight, and their easy rapport
gives “Wet Leg” a glorious lightness.
Though each had been involved with
other musical projects, neither had a
full-time music career before last year.
(Chambers was working in her fami-
ly’s jewelry store, and Teasdale was a
wardrobe assistant.) According to band
lore, they decided to start making music
together while paused at the top of a
Ferris wheel, drunk, and they made it
through just four gigs before signing
to Domino Records.
“Wet Leg” is a charming, addictive
début—wry, melodic, gleeful, smart,
and cool. Chambers plays lead guitar,
Teasdale handles rhythm guitar, and
they are backed here by the bassist Mi-
chael Champion, the drummer Henry
Holmes, and the synth player and pro-
ducer Dan Carey. Teasdale has a voice
that can swing from deep and teas-
ing to dry and laden with ennui. When
she thinks something is lame, she
can be withering. On “Loving You,”
Teasdale informs an ex, “I don’t want
to have to be friends/I don’t want to
have to pretend.” She sweetly adds, “I
hope you choke on your girlfriend.”
On “Angelica,” she laments the te-
dium of going out:
But I don’t wanna follow you on the ’gram
I don’t wanna listen to your band
I don’t know why I haven’t left yet
Don’t want none of this.
Much of “Wet Leg” addresses the
The band ’s long-awaited début album is charming, addictive, and endlessly cool. banality of adulthood, and particularly
