Wet Leg resurrects rock’n’roll live in Chicago

The sun set over an impatient crowd at Chicago’s favourite outdoor venue, the Salt Shed. Tucked in between a major highway and the Chicago River, the Salt Shed’s fairground arena was packed to capacity with over 5,000 jostling bodies waiting for UK band Wet Leg to take the stage. 

When the lights finally set, an orange glow backlit the players, all dressed in white and looking almost messianic. Rhian Teasdale, clad in a white tank, spandex shorts, and angelically winged tennies, stalked onto the stage as the music kicked in. Arms up and flexed like a bodybuilder, she prowled toward the microphone with the confidence of the world’s smallest heavyweight champion. 

A driving, hi-hat heavy rhythm brought us from zero to seventy, as lead guitarist and co-founder Hester Chambers (tucked happily away upstage), lays down an effortlessly catchy riff. The first single, “Catch These Fists” from the group’s sophomore album Moisturizer encapsulates what Wet Leg does so well and so consistently. The song starts hard, then holds itself back like a horse at the gate, allowing the soft menace of Rhian Teasdale’s vocals to cut through the noise and build the song back up to a full gallop.  By switching between dynamic polarities, Wet Leg creates structural dissonance that keeps the song feeling fresh and leaning forward.

“I know all too well what you’re like,” Teasdale warns as the guitar’s relentless hook keeps the audience on the balls of their feet, almost unable to stop bouncing up and down. “I don’t want your love, I just want to fight,” the audience shouts back into the night. 

Teasdale dons a slime green, acrylic guitar, as the band glides right into their second, breakout single, “Wet Dream,” a groovy number that slides between sexual encouragement and admonishment. It’s surreal and sexual, specific and opaque, threatening and fun. 

Playing a twenty-song set, the band’s oeuvre feels fully realised. Their self-titled (and Grammy award-winning) debut album, intermixed with their second offering, create a performance that is playful, electrifying and seemingly effortless. The set is never overridden with spectacle. The stage is empty (with the exception of their instruments, a red rotary phone), and the most pageantry you’ll see is a bubble machine on overdrive and the occasional strobe light. And there’s no need for anything more than that when the spectacle is in the sound. That’s what keeps the audience off their phones and in their bodies. You can’t film a show for your Instagram story when you’re too busy dancing.

As the band rolled into “CPR,” the opening track off of Moisturizer, I couldn’t help but feel my love for rock’n’roll being resurrected. In this age of social media, it’s easy to feel that the genre is flagging, mired in purism and an unevolving sound. “If you’re a ghost, then oh my god / how can you give me the chills?” Teasdale playfully questions. If Rock is indeed on the rocks, then Wet Leg is here to give it mouth-to-mouth, and bang on its chest until it comes roaring back with new life.  

The red rotary phone rings. “Hello, 999, what’s your emergency?” a help line voice asks the audience.  “Well, the thing is,” Teasdale stammers back “I – I – I – I – I – I’m in love!” The feeling was mutual.