‘Moisturizer' Review: Wet Leg Doubles Down
Also embedded within 'Wet Leg' were signs of where the band might later go wrong. Here and there, the group's devil-may-care attitude gave way to a more solemn approach that sounded comparatively conventional. It was possible to imagine a future record where Wet Leg teams with a hit-making super-producer, leans toward pop, and chases a younger audience with straightforward songs about relationships and personal growth. Fortunately, the band's second album, 'Moisturizer' (Domino), out Friday, does none of that. Rather, it finds Wet Leg doubling down on what made it stand out in the first place—oddball humor, disarming expressions of lust and catchy, quirky tunes touching on antecedents like the Breeders and Elastica that avoid sounding like mere novelty.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Washington Post
22 minutes ago
- Washington Post
Tennis fans deserve better than John McEnroe
Please, someone in American television, break the McEnroe grip on tennis microphones. Belching up words is not broadcasting, a craft John McEnroe never learned. Johnny Mac has become an entitled air quaffer, a lapsed past master turned trifler who refuses to work at it. Witness how he tends to butcher the names of anyone not ranked in the top five. As for younger brother Patrick, he burps out banalities with the same offbeat affect as his bro, apparently believing it passes for alert observation. You need Pepto after listening to them for two hours. Coupled in the ESPN broadcast booth at Wimbledon this week, they have given the viewer about as much information as a couple of air compressors, complete with the irritating hissing. Here they were on a quality match in the round of 16 between Novak Djokovic and Alex de Minaur, whose appellation wandered through Johnny Mac's mouth variously as di Miner, de Minhour and di Minoor before settling in as de Manure. 'Highly skilled play there from Djokovic.' 'Playing at a very high level out there today.' 'He's found an extra gear here early in the fourth.' 'Who would have thunk it?' 'He's a goat, this legend.' 'He has come to play.' 'It's not how you start; it's how you finish.' Thanks for those insights, boys. Tennis is a gorgeous game deserving of more eloquence than this. There is a raft of truly talented voices out there who apply themselves and enhance the audiovisual medium with real insight. Andy Roddick, Jim Courier, Jimmy Arias, Chris Evert, Andre Agassi, Darren Cahill, Mary Carillo and Lindsay Davenport are far more steeped in this beautiful game than the McEnroes, more aware of rising young players from around the world, more alert to tactics and technique, and more articulate. It's an annual frustration to come down from their voices to the yah-yahing of the McEnroes. Responsibility for this lies with cowed producers and frictionless network chiefs who have enabled the McEnroe monopoly despite their shallow blandness — and who have allowed John in particular way too much diva license. He calls virtually all of the top matches, from ESPN to NBC to TNT, and cuts out to do cameos for BBC and Tennis Channel, without doing a lick of ostensible homework. The most spoiled actress didn't behave any worse than McEnroe at the French Open last month, when he was actually late to the set on the day of the men's final. His chair was vacant for long minutes as Evert and Tim Henman covered for him. When he finally arrived, Evert teased that he's 'always late' and Henman said they had waited hours for him. He retorted on air, 'That's your problem.' When the elder Mac isn't burying the viewer in superficialities, he blithely and unembarrassedly mangles foreign pronunciations, apparently because he imagines it is part of his ineffable charm. Flavio Cobolli of Italy has suffered the indignity at Wimbledon of being dubbed Carbelly, Cowbelly and Cahbally. Maybe by the semis, Johnny Mac will buy another vowel. Or study his ESPN binder. 'But, hey, what do we know, right, John?' Patrick said snidely to his brother at one point. Well, that's becoming a question. More and more in recent years, the McEnroes think nothing of confessing their ignorance live on air, especially when it comes to mid-ranked Europeans. Earlier this week, when Grigor Dimitrov unleashed a 140-mph ace against Jannik Sinner, Johnny Mac hazarded, 'That's got to be the biggest serve he ever hit.' Pause. Chris Fowler ruffled a piece of paper. 'It says here he hit 143 in the first round,' Fowler said dryly. My, what you can do when you check the folders of research that underlings prepare for you, instead of relying on your own genius. At the 2024 Australian Open, Johnny Mac watched Zizou Bergs of Belgium warm up and bawled live on air, 'Tell me what you know about him, because I don't know anything.' That was more polite than his gaffe at the 2023 Australian Open, where he shared the booth with Patrick during Frances Tiafoe's second-round match against Juncheng 'Jerry' Shang. 'What is this Chinese guy's name? Jerry? How did they come up with Jerry? Is he the only guy from China named Jerry?' Actually, Patrick observed delicately, Shang lived in Florida. Contrast that verbal gunk with Roddick's sharply observant podcast, 'Quick Served,' which is a terrific blend of technical talk and frank-mouthed irreverence. It's the place to go if you want a connoisseur's discussion of the Roger Federer slice vs. the more 'floatie chip' of Steffi Graf, or a breakdown of Carlos 'Chucky' Alcaraz's breadth of shots. 'He's spoiled for choice,' Roddick observed. 'His only issue is how to beat you. He can beat you four different ways. And it's, 'What is the most effective version of myself for this match?'' It wasn't a McEnroe who detected a crucial alteration Alcaraz made in his backhand this season. That was Agassi in his virtuoso performance at the French Open, where he deconstructed the stroke adjustment on tape — Alcaraz taking the racket back with a straight right arm — and described how much control it has given him. 'They don't know if he is going to hold and pull across, or if he is going to hold and just go inside off-line. And he can just leave his opponent with their jockstrap on the ground,' Agassi said. 'I mean, look at this: He can go either direction with it. Because, in tennis, power and control comes from time spent on racket with the ball. … You've got more power, you've got more control, and you've got more deception.' The McEnroes show none of this acumen, though they might. Their experience as players remains an intriguing base to work from — John with his famous deftness and strategic brilliance, Patrick with his sheer fight-through-the-ranks persistence. When each retired, he knew the games and habits of his opponents and how to find all the angles against them. Those days are over. Now, they are just examples of what the great Edward R. Murrow warned: 'Your voice, amplified to the degree where it reaches from one end of the country to the other, does not confer upon you greater wisdom than when your voice reached only from one end of the bar to the other.'
Vogue
23 minutes ago
- Vogue
Addressed: It's Hot Out. You Need a Hand Held Fan. But Which One?
Welcome to Addressed, a weekly column where we, ahem, address the joys (and tribulations!) of getting dressed. So far, we've unpacked how to wear shorts at the office and beyond, how to pack a carry-on bag for a work trip, how to dress with style in your third trimester, and even how to layer without looking like that chair in your room (you know the one). Download the Vogue app, and find our Style Advice section to submit your question. Hey, did you hear about this? It's hot out. Like sweltering hot. 'It's not the heat, it's the humidity,' you might say, and guess what? It's also insanely humid. Standard eight-minute walks from here to there have become an exercise in how disgusting you can feel while still having to show your face to the world (the answer is very). Heatwave dressing (which is just summer dressing, really) has been a big topic of conversation here at Addressed; we've already discussed how to approach the sandals conundrum, the shorts issue, the hat situation, and, of course, the it's-boiling-outside-and-freezing-at-your-desk debacle. There's only one thing left to think about when we step out of the house each morning—did we remember to grab the fan? But what kind of fan are we reaching for? There are so many different styles to choose from now, so we've put together a fun guide to help you find the right hand held fan for you. A classic accordion hand held fan seen in Florence during the Pitti Uomo shows. Photographed by Acielle / Style Du Monde A Classic Accordion Fan This foldable version is a classic for a reason. Its slim size means it can live at the bottom of your bag, and with a quick flick of the wrist you're on your way to cool-down city. Perfect for: If you have a bit of a boho streak, you can find a vintage—always vintage!—groovy floral or lace-trimmed version that matches your dreamy vibes. Alternatively, if your style leans more no-nonsense, a version picked up at a souvenir tourist shop during your summer travels might be right for you. And if you're really fancy—Hermès makes a calfskin heart-shaped version. An Around-the-Neck Fan I don't know how this objet was invented, but I have to assume it was a DJ who, looking in the mirror while his headphones hung limply around his neck said to himself, 'there's got to be a better way!' And so he turned the speakers into fans that not only cool you off, but keep your hands free for reading and drinking an ice cold beveragino.
Yahoo
33 minutes ago
- Yahoo
I paid for my husband's creative retreat – I never imagined he'd find his new girlfriend there
As far as I knew, there was no sudden trigger that led to the end of my relationship with Mike* two years ago. Instead, it was death by a thousand cuts – the way he refused to talk about why I felt so sad, or the fact that he'd arrange to go out with a friend without consulting me, leaving me eating dinner alone. When I saw the recent speculation that Katy Perry and Orlando Bloom had split and he was already with someone else, my heart went out to her, because I know how humiliating that is. And though they appeared to be friends again, visiting Jeff Bezos on his honeymoon, I wonder how much pain she was concealing with her smile for the cameras – because trust me, being instantly replaced really hurts. As far as everyone else in our lives knew, our marriage of almost eight years was fine. We'd met via online dating in our early thirties, and though it was physical attraction that initially brought us together, we discovered we had lots in common – we both loved hill-walking and live music, we had similar values and we liked each other's friends. After two years, he proposed in a rowing boat on the Serpentine and I was very happy. Mike's job as a company manager was demanding, whereas I'm a music teacher and mostly work from home. We used to make an effort to do 'date night', but gradually, life got in the way. We had ageing parents who needed regular visits, weekends with Mike's son from a previous relationship who was struggling at school, and Mike was dealing with redundancies at work. After six years, our relationship felt like fire-fighting – but not together. If I tried to talk about 'us', he'd shut down. For his fortieth, I bought him a weekend away on a creative retreat, something he'd always said he'd love to do but didn't have time to pursue. I thought it might inspire him. When he came back, he said it was helpful, but seemed less inclined than ever to engage with me. We drifted on for another few months, but by then he was sleeping in the spare room due to our different bedtimes. Eventually, I made him sit down and asked if he still loved me. When he hesitated, I knew that was my answer. He said there was no one else, but he needed time alone to work out what he wanted from life and we were both deeply sad. Mike moved out to a friend's house the following day and we agreed not to talk for a while to let the dust settle. I struggled to come to terms with what had happened and would lie awake wondering if I could have done things differently, and saved our marriage. My parents were deeply upset, but they and my friends rallied round me. Less than three weeks later, I was on Facebook, scrolling, when I saw Mike tagged in a friend's photo. Next to him was a woman I'd never seen before, and he had his arm around her. I felt faint with shock, but I calmed myself down and thought perhaps it was just a fellow guest cosying up for the camera. Later that day, I mentioned it to a mutual friend, Cathy, hoping for reassurance, and she instantly looked embarrassed. When I pressed, she admitted she'd heard they met on the retreat and had 'kept in touch'. This was her first visit to see him – when he'd barely got the sheets on to his friend's spare bed. Suddenly, all our sad-but-kind agreement that we'd 'drifted apart' was exposed as lies. Yes, things had become lacklustre, but I truly believe that with some effort, maybe counselling, we could have recovered. Now I understood that Mike had already checked out of our relationship emotionally, having met Ella months earlier. I had no idea if anything had 'happened' that weekend, but I suspect so. I think he was waiting to see if things could work with her before he left me. I was beyond hurt, and deeply angry. I felt so stupid and so betrayed. I called him, and demanded to know the truth, but he swore that while they had kept in touch, she was just visiting 'as a friend' and that he 'wouldn't do that to me.' Within a few weeks though, it was clear that Ella was a lot more than that – suddenly she was his Facebook friend, and later that month, there they were again, at his friend's birthday drinks. Six weeks after we split, they were 'out' as a couple, commenting on each other's social media posts and looking blissfully happy in photos. I had to navigate the divorce and selling the house alone, knowing that he was already madly in love with my replacement. My friends were suitably furious on my behalf, but it didn't help. I felt utterly cast aside, as though he'd just been going through the motions until he could be with her. I'd go over and over conversations we'd had and berate myself. I am certain I would have felt able to move on much faster myself if Mike hadn't moved on at warp speed. They are still together and I'm currently single. I'm retraining as a music therapist and sharing a flat with a friend, but it's not what I'd planned for my forties. I genuinely feel the end of my marriage would have been a lot easier to cope with if I hadn't felt shoved aside so fast, in favour of a better option. *All names and professions have been changed As told to Flic Everett Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
