The cover lands the first punch—Wet Leg frontwoman Rhian Teasdale in a tip-toed crouch, grinning a creaturely, threatening grin.
The only thing obscuring her crotch is her own calf. She’s got claws. And both the pose and expression are startling, straddling the line between animal hunger and arousal enough to beg: is she looking at prey or a potential mate? (It’s worth noting, too, that one of Teasdale’s knee socks repeats “I ♥ ️ME” as her coconspirator Heather Chambers engages in an adolescent act of self-love behind her.)
It’s one of the most literal and well-executed album covers in recent memory—an evocative visual that captures the energy of the coming songs.
The suggestively aggressive display indicates the thrilling tensions at the center of Wet Leg’s sophomore effort moisturizer, a taut and thematically focused record that sees the 5-piece easily transcending the success of their debut.
For nearly 40 minutes, Teasdale and her bandmates interrogate the links between sex and conflict, desire, and the angst it can inspire—emotionally and physically.
Across the record, Teasdale is torn between raw attraction and romantic tenderness, between the desire to screw and something deeper. The lines between injury and involvement are blurred throughout, but what makes the album so buoyant is the whole gang’s commitment to lurid playfulness.
Album opener “CPR” sets the tone quickly. “Is it love or suicide?” Teasdale asks of a fresh relationship over a mischievous and suggestive baseline.
The picture painted from the outset is one of compulsion: she’s willing to jump off a cliff if the object of her desire tells her to. The chorus explodes in a request that unites fatality with sex: “put your mouth to mine, give me CPR.”
Soon, though, we’re sucked into “catch these fists”, a heater featuring an addictively immature four-note guitar lick. The tune sees Teasdale fielding an unwelcome male advance with literal threats—breathy “yeahs” building to a “man down” declaration. The song itself is a sonic KO.
As the first single, “catch these fists” formed the basis for Weg Leg’s reemergence and reskinning. A pre-release performance on Later… with Jules Holland shows the band operating at peak performance, Teasdale in dirty white sports bra, kneepads, and booty shorts—she looks like blunt force in the flesh.
The amount of her body she shows in combat sport getup is fearless—she’s hot, she knows it, and she says so on the bouncy “mangetout”: “You think I’m pretty? You think I’m pretty cool? You wanna fuck me? I know most people do…”
The bravura is infectious, and moisturizer is an exhibition in many ways, one that may be dangerous for the listener-solicitor—Teasdale delights in exposing herself, but only does so behind barbed wire.
In fact, danger seems a prerequisite for the singer’s affection. “You’re giving Jennifer’s Body, I’ll be needy for you,” she sings on “jennifer’s body”, presumably referencing Megan Fox’s homicidal sexiness from the film (which is, itself, a reference to Courtney Love’s original ode to dismemberment).
“pillow talk”, rivaling “catch these fists” in sheer attack, holds the theme. Referring to the object of her desire as “Calamity Jane”, Teasdale confesses to using her pillow as a sexual stand-in to act out her escalating fantasies.
It’s easy to see how this sustained level of feminine machismo may overplay its hand. But Teasdale and crew are too authentic to fall into boring girl-bossing.
“moisturizer” reveals its elasticity as the album’s title, coming to signify both the sexual anxiety and the soothing comfort of pursuing love in earnest. All the violent posturing is validated by moments when, in the presence of her beloved, Teasdale lays down her weapons and lets herself genuinely fall.
“liquidize” is case in point: “it’s not like me to fall head over heels,” she sings, almost in awe of herself. “I melt for you, I liquidize…” And in the chugging 4/4 “pong song” Teasdale shouts it: “I’ve never been so deep in love!”
Just past the midway point, we drift into “pokemon”, a dreamy and upbeat pop number that’s pure balm in context of the album’s bludgeoning power chords. “This town is the best I’ve seen, but nothing hits like you and me, ‘I love you’ I say, casually,” Teasdale croons, and the tenderness is as infectious as the bravado.
These moments aren’t deviations, either—they happen in tandem with aggression. The result is an emotionally rich record, one that becomes increasingly satisfying as repeat listens reveal its intricacies.
For all its fitfulness, moisturizer has an unexpectedly domestic close. It’s a happy ending—one in which the joy of simply being at home with one’s love warrants an anthem. “You and me at home again” Teasdale repeats, while expressing the unique peace of exiting the sexual marketplace after finding love: “I’m over everybody else, happy comatose…”
A sort of maturation has occurred over the course of the record—Teasdale has gone from begging for mouth-to-mouth and humping her own pillow to an emotionally stable relationship. It’s so simple: “When I’m with you, I feel OK…”
As a whole, moisturizer does exactly what a second album should—it leans effortlessly into Wet Leg’s strengths, sees them elevating their lean songwriting abilities as a unit, and focuses their intellectual heft in a unique manner.
The wittiness and effortless edge of these songs sets Wet Leg wholly apart in current rock. moisturizer is fearless, hard, and comes throwing hands with intent to tenderize the listener. Because it’s true: love hurts. But in this case, it hurts real good.