(Credits: Wet Leg)
Brixton isn’t for the weak. Ask anyone in London and they’ll confirm it with either a shudder or a knowing nod. The capital has always championed the strong and, for that reason alone, Brixton has flourished as it refuses to stop moving. Sure, the world has changed, what was once ropey pubs and hole in the wall eateries are now restaurants proudly boasting “hamburgers, fries and pet nat”, such is the duality of a place like this. But one thing remains: Brixton is a monster that will chew you up and spit you out if you let it. Something Wet Leg were likely all too aware of.
It’s impossible to avoid. Ascending the escalators from the tube stop, you’re slammed in the face by a cacophony of smells, sounds and sights. For every hamburger and specialist wine shop, there is a hot dog vendor moving onions across a greased slab. As suited men fly out of the station and into their next drink-filled destination, they do so moving past the increasingly high population of homeless people that surrounds the entrance way. And it’s a duality that continues into the night, as for every near-perfect piece of power pop brilliance that the band delivered, there was a moment of sincere disappointment.
Openers Mary In The Junkyard may well have felt a little daunted by the sheer scale of the room in front of them. The trio were notably shy in their moments between songs, but, honestly, who cares about that? Across a rich set, they performed the kind of quasi-alt-rock which would keep a 1990s teen comedy partying throughout a wild night. Gutsy in all the right spots but with enough tenderness to suggest a blooming career is in the offing, as they closed their set with aplomb, a swarm of otherwise clueless faces were lit up as they went to their phones to look them up.
I’m always a little nervous when set times begin to fall away into the distance. A crowd can easily grow resentful when faced with an increasing wait time and the threat of missing connections to get home. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for the triumphant arrival, backlit with arms aloft in a strongman pose, for the main event. It felt like this was the moment the audience, but also Wet Leg, had been waiting for. Sadly, Brixton would rear its head to take a bite out of the band.
Let’s get this straight: a venue the size of Brixton Academy should never have poor sound quality. It is a machine of a venue, churning out performance after performance from some of the biggest names in music. With way over 2000 patrons regularly in attendance, there should never be a situation where scores of audience members are offering directions to the sound desk. Yet, this was a near-constant command through the first five songs of Wet Leg’s set.
Admirably performed by the whole band, with Rhian Teasdale glacially gliding into becoming one of the most imposing frontpeople of her age, they smashed through ‘Catch These Fists‘ with a commanding sense of self. This display continued, only hampered by the chorus of “turn her mic up” and “turn the bass drum down” that littered every quiet moment. Thankfully, by the time ‘Wet Dream’ began, the sound had seemingly been reduced to teething issues, and the real fun could begin.
Say what you want, but nothing beats watching thousands of people hit a double clap in the middle of a song, and with the first iteration of it, one imagines Wet Leg may well have found their groove. They continued to crush the setlist, providing a strong idea of why a band with only one album is able to fill such a venue. ‘Ur Mum’ and ‘Piece of Shit’ remain crowd favourites and provide enough joy to fill the room while ‘Davina McCall’ is quickly making its way into a similar category.
Of course, ‘Chaise Longue’ goes off with the same energy of a firework being slapped with a cricket bat, and as sparks fly, the sense of seeing a fuse lit on the stardom of Wet Leg feels more real than ever. New tracks, including closer ‘CPR’, also hint at a bright future with any fear that the band might use their upcoming new record to hit the big time and be spending this weekend next year at a Radio 1 event bolstered by pop-savvy hits, thankfully, allayed. Brixton may have tried to gobble them up, but Wet Leg burst out its chest with a sabre of alt-pop brilliance shimmering for all to see.
Personally, I’m looking forward to the band’s next show at a venue of this size. There could be a sense that tonight, the group were having to fight against the gnawing sound and the grind of having a percentage of their wildly varied audience (ages 16-65) waiting for one smash hit song to arrive and not offering too much in the way of enjoyment until it did. The next time they come on such a stage, the entire audience will hum with palpable energy, ready to tear off the roof.
The truth is, at a show like this, there is a lot of fun to be had if you want it. And as Wet Leg left the stage, speckled with the saliva of a Brixton monster who tried hard to swallow them up, it was clear they were going to have fun no matter what, whether you joined them or not.
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