![]() (It’s often said that their home of the Isle of Wight lags 20 years behind the rest of the UK, and Wet Leg’s suffocating social circle sounds straight out of 2005: the Cribs’ “ Hey Scenesters!,” Art Brut’s “ Formed a Band” and Arctic Monkeys’ “ Fake Tales of San Francisco” writ large.) You might wonder whether Wet Leg embraced indie rock as part of their larky shtick-what could be more ironic than messing around with a destitute genre?-if they weren’t such a good study. Apparently they barely had time to meet their future label, Domino, because they were too busy “rolling around in the grass doing teddy bear rolls with the guitars.” Their lyrics cringe with embarrassment on behalf of anyone deluded enough to be in a band, with their warm beer and crap patter and arty parties. ![]() They repel seriousness, claiming they only started the band for fun-on top of a Ferris wheel at a music festival, no less-and their songs mean next to nothing. talk shows the subject of approving texts from your dad. Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers arrived fully formed with the kind of infernally catchy indie rock hit not heard since the days of Franz Ferdinand and were instantly everywhere: played to death on British alternative radio on Jools Holland and late-night U.S. If you don’t already love Wet Leg, chances are their swift rise and self-deprecation induce a particular kind of cynicism.
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