Imagine my confusion. We’re six or seven days into an un-British-ly hot heat wave. Nobody has slept. We’re all flopping about like zombie fish out of water. The British do not do heatwaves with good grace. We’re not built for it. Our homes not designed to repel heat. There’s no siesta in the U.K. No air-conditioning and no fire hydrants. I’m in a land locked county to boot. It’s almost two hours to the coast. And it’s Thursday so I have to keep going to work. Despite the Euros final being a week ago, and everyone I work with still being bummed about us not winning it. This is starting to now feel like an endless grind. We slog on. No rain, no gain.
I get up at four thirty AM and get in a car I’ve only driven a handful of times (it’s new… well, to me it is). I’m trying to get the radio to fix on a station I like as the cars air blowers are struggling to work out what to do. The DAT display (it’s got digital radio… get me) tells me that it is Siouxsie & The Banshees Peek-a-Boo is playing before I hear a note. That’ll do I think. The radio is playing a thin rhythm track… a voice asks
“Is your muffin buttered?
Would you like us to assign someone to butter your muffin?”
Hang on. That’s not Siouxsie. This is odd. The synthetic beat continues unabated. That’s a bit heavy on the Carry Onnuendo isn’t it?
“Excuse me (what?), Hey you, over there, On the chaise longue in your underwear, What are you doing sitting down? You should be horizontal now”
Oh I see. Last week I had to deal with audiobooks and that weird intoned childlike voice telling me about dolls and coppers and children lost on the road and now I’ve got this on my plate.
“On the chaise longue, on the chaise longue, on the chaise longue, All day long, on the chaise longue, On the chaise longue, on the chaise longue, on the chaise longue, All day long, on the chaise longue”
Fucking hell. They’re taking the piss. The DAB had caught up. This band are called Wet Leg. What kind of a post Novelty Island turn of a world do we now live in? This is both hilarious and unsettling and beguiling at the same time. La-Ard-D! (with a big D)
“Is your mother worried? Would you like us to assign someone to worry your mother? Excuse me, what?”
That was the moment that clinched it for me. “Would you like us to assign someone to worry your mother?” I suddenly felt like I was living in Terry Gilliam’s Brazil. That could be the best lyric of 2021. That’s genius. I like a bit of Wet Leg (A sentence I never imagined typing before).
The whole track pings along tight and close to the toy town rhythm track with a European sounding cool girl mouthing slightly lewd nonsense. A bit of indie band guitar flaring out during the languid chant like chorus. The bands debut single is a calling card that fits right in alongside all the other weird kids putting out new stuff that doesn’t make a whole wwwwww aww as wwwaa
Sssss ahhh eke if CJ is hey if it
OK I don’t know what just happened there, must’ve not locked my phone in my pocket or something. Tell you what though. I’m feeling like now, in this particular review I should not edit it out. I was going to fart on about Dry Cleaning, Self Esteem and Do Nothing but why bother? The monorail is king after all.
Like a young female Sparks or the new Devo in sundresses and straw hats, Wet Leg are Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers from the Isle Of Wight. Now signed to Domino records and about to become the sort of band you can’t wait to hear what they do next. Check out the video for the track which is just as kooks at the tune below.