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Glasgow Times
11-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Glasgow Times
I saw Wet Leg at TRNSMT 2025 in Glasgow
Turning up in dyed pink hair and wearing what appeared to be a bikini top and shorts with angel wing shoes, Wet Leg's lead singer Rhian Teasdale flexed her muscles as the smoke machine filled the stage and air. It said one thing and one thing only - we're in for a memorable show. (Image: Images by Gordon Terris, Newsquest) After taking a sip of beer and switching to an iconic see-through electric guitar, Rhian and the band jumped into their big hit, Wet Dream - and the crowd weren't shy to join in. The band sounded incredibly tight and Rhian displayed a range of brilliant vocals for the majority of the set. (Image: Images by Gordon Terris, Newsquest) Before launching into one of their new tunes, Rhian said: "How are we doing, TRNSMT? "Thank you so much for coming to see us. We're called Wet Leg and today is a very special day because we've got an album out, so we'll play some new songs." Later on, the singer then addressed the hot weather, before singing one of their older crowd pleasers, Ur Mum. She said: "It's hot but you guys seem energetic. Are you guys good at screaming?" During the song, the band unleash a long, high-pitched scream and if you have seen them in concert, you will know that it is a staple part of their live shows. And sure enough, as revellers played along, a huge eruption of screams broke out across the green when commanded to by the group. (Image: Images by Gordon Terris, Newsquest) The band mixed a good range of old and new songs during today's set and they had so much fun doing it. It was incredibly infectious to watch their joy throughout their hour-long performance. Before playing Mangetout, Hester Chambers, who does backing vocals and plays bass in the band, made a speech about the importance of free speech and democracy before saying "free Palestine". (Image: Images by Gordon Terris, Newsquest) The only disappointing part of the set was the group's decision to finish on CPR, a song from their new album, rather than an older or well-loved song. Admittedly, it was a strange choice. But, the group sounded great and kept the energy up on a hot evening in Glasgow, and as a long-time fan of the band who has never seen them live, they didn't let me down.
Otago Daily Times
11-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Otago Daily Times
Obituary: Max Romeo, musician
Jamaican reggae musician Max Romeo performs onstage in the early to mid 2010s. Reggae star Max Romeo began his career with lascivious dance-hall bangers, but evolved to become a respected purveyor of politically charged roots music. The Jamaican musician's first hit, 1968's Wet Dream, was a far from subtle track which its singer, unconvincingly, claimed was about a leaking roof. Despite that disclaimer the BBC still banned it, adding to its appeal. In the '1970s Romeo's music turned political and his 1976 album, War Ina Babylon, made with Lee "Scratch" Perry and his backing band, the Upsetters, is regarded as a classic of the era. The LP featured a plethora of classics, including the title track and Chase the Devil, which would be sampled numerous times in subsequent decades. Romeo relocated to the United States, where he struck up a relationship with The Rolling Stones. Keith Richards produced Romeo's 1981 album, Holding Out My Love to You. Soon after Romeo returned to Jamaica, but he also spent much of his time recording and touring in the UK. Three of his children became musicians and he released a 2014 album Father And Sons with two of his boys. Romeo died on April 11, aged 80. — APL/agencies
Sydney Morning Herald
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
Wet Leg began as an in-joke. Going viral taught them a lesson
On a breezy May night in London, 5000 people are crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the famous sloped floor of Brixton Academy. Artificial fog wafts onto the stage and a flood of bright orange lights jolt to life, casting Rhian Teasdale, frontperson and guitarist of the rock band Wet Leg, into silhouette. She stalks towards the microphone, fists raised, as if balancing an invisible barbell above her head, or about to claim a wrestling belt. Her bandmates – Hester Chambers on guitar, drummer Henry Holmes, Joshua Mobaraki on synth and guitars and bassist Ellis Durand – are all in white. Teasdale could just as easily be leading an army or a cult. It's the band's first London show after a debut outing that kicked off in 2021 and sounds like a relic from a time in music history: a song, written on a lark, based on an in-joke, struck such a nerve that it spawned a record deal, a follow-up single that went just as viral, a global tour supporting Harry Styles and spots on every festival that matters. There was the full-length record and then multiple Grammy awards in 2023. Where most artists might feel the pressure to do it all over again, Wet Leg have been figuring out how to do it differently. Their green-ness at the beginning made them agreeable and malleable, Teasdale says the following day over coffee in a Brixton cafe. She's hurried to meet me and Mobaraki after a nail appointment and before a soundcheck – there's another show at the venue tonight to prepare for. 'The last album … [we were] just being a bit naive, letting people project their own ideas of what it is to be Wet Leg, what it is to be, like, this off-kilter kind of cottagecore duo.' That duo was, for many years, Teasdale and Chambers. College friends who met on the sleepy Isle of Wight, a place that I know little of besides lyrics from When I'm Sixty-Four and Teasdale's recollection of wanting so badly to leave and move to London, where she now lives with her partner. The offbeat, post-punk style of their music and unserious, eye-rolling lyrics came as a shock to listeners, who hung on their every whispered word. Its popularity was just as shocking to the band members themselves, who never thought anyone would be listening. ' Wet Dream and Chaise Longue – they were stupid songs that we started writing in mine and Hester's flat,' Mobaraki says. Mobaraki, Chambers' long-term partner, witnessed the band's origins when Teasdale was back on the Isle of Wight, crashing on their couch for a weeks-long stretch. 'We were having such a good time making ourselves laugh. It just sort of happened. 'Maybe this is quite a romantic way to think about it, but what's special about Hester and Rhian is that those things they find funny or special happen to resonate with lots of people,' he says, grinning in disbelief at where he and his friends have found themselves. 'It's so cool. I still can't believe it.' Lots of people connecting and paying attention can be a blessing and a curse, though. Chambers soldiered through her social anxiety to promote their first record and tours but has made the call not to do the same this time around. Her speaking voice in interviews is tiny and nervous – a contrast to the strength she unleashes on her guitar – and on stage she'll often turn her back to the audience. In photoshoots, she's become a pro at hiding behind props and her long hair. In shared interviews, she and Teasdale often held eye contact with one another as if a silent, encouraging telekinetic thread was running between them. They were branded as waifish little oddballs, rather than friends keeping each other as solid as possible. Being sweetly dressed, softly spoken young women and entirely new to the industry meant being misrepresented, and they often paid an emotional price. 'There have been occasions with the first album that people have kind of infantalised me and Hester, and kind of separated us from the boys,' Teasdale says. Loading It's one reason why the rules have shifted this time around, and she and her bandmates feel empowered enough to enforce them. 'We are learning to say no to things, and we can say no to things. 'If there's a weird comment on the internet – whilst I'm not trying to give these often quite mad people the time of day, sometimes I think it is important to call it out because … I think for us, having an online presence just happened so quickly and so it's not really something that we really thought about happening when we started the band and being that available for people to cast their opinions and desires upon us.' Give people an inch and they'll take a mile. Or, to be more specific: give men online a new band fronted by pretty young women to bear witness to, and they'll stake a claim and make those women responsible for their slobbering impulses. One of their breakout singles might've been called Wet Dream, but the sing-song delivery of the incendiary line 'What makes you think you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?' was a piercing safety pin deflating any masturbatory fantasies. Nevertheless, they persist. 'It happened the other day: some dude had commented on one of our videos, 'A lot of boys have become men today'.' I'm like, that's so f---ing gross. That's so f---ing weird,' Teasdale says. Sitting in her kitchen chatting to me over Zoom on what promises to be a sweltering London morning a few weeks after the Brixton shows, wearing a white tank top similar to the ones she's worn in Moisturizer 's press photos, album cover and videos, Teasdale mimes a shiver down her spine. 'It was such a strange time and we were just trying to make sense of it all, to work out what our boundaries are.' Rhian Teasdale 'Most of the time I do just ignore it 'cause I don't want to give it any more energy, because it really doesn't warrant that. But I actually commented back and I said, 'Ew, creepy'. And then I checked back and the guy deleted his post entirely. I think people just think that … we are complacent and we're not going to say anything.' Saying yes, nodding along, smiling through the discomfort taught Teasdale that no one wins when she doesn't listen to her gut. So she's turned the volume up on it now, palatability be damned. The cover of Moisturizer shows her crouched on the carpet of a drab suburban bedroom, grinning menacingly. She and Chambers have long, sharp talons that are more pre-historic than glamorous. It's peculiar and leaves an uneasy taste in your mouth. That's entirely the point. 'The more people you get involved, the more diluted the vision becomes, and the more weird iterations you get of what it is that you're setting out to do. It's just been really empowering, being able to have that much autonomy over [our] image. And to build a world around the music and be a bit fake or a bit subversive with it.' Despite occasionally dipping their toes in the discourse and reacting to what they witness there, Wet Leg are by and large revelling in more romantic impulses these days. Rhian met her partner, also a musician, around the same time the band began to gain attention. Chambers and Mobaraki are at their most content when they're at home on the Isle of Wight, going about life by each other's sides. Moisturizer is, more than anything, a totem to intimacy. On album opener CPR, Teasdale mimics a call to emergency services. The crisis? 'Well… the thing is… I… I… I… I… I… I'M IN LOVE'. There's sentimental mooning and rose-tinted dreams of romantic getaways on some tracks, and then there's Pillow Talk, a promise to make her lover sticky, hot, screaming, beg, and 'wet like an aquarium'. After they finally arrived at the end of what felt like endless touring, the band weren't reunited again until they set up a makeshift studio in the seaside town of Suffolk. The idea of hunkering down to make Moisturizer in one fell swoop – rather than tinkering away at singles in stolen moments – appealed to Teasdale. 'It was just like, 'No, I don't want to be sat in the second-album world forever, let's just get it over with'.' The risk of letting in outside pressures and voices, of agonising over whether songs would connect, if people would like them, was too great otherwise. 'We did the old-school rock'n'roll residency. Let's just go and block the world out there and be very self-indulgent about it.' What came out during that time together were songs that dream of exiling someone who's been standing in your light (Mangetout) and a love story dedicated to a person whose presence makes you believe in divine forces (Pond Song). There were songs inspired by the horror movies the band watched together each night (Jennifer's Body) and more than one reference to winding back and planting a sharp uppercut on someone. It's a record with teeth and hard edges, that snarls and snaps. But also one with a fleshy underbelly, a deep delicacy and a vulnerability we weren't permitted to see on Wet Leg's cheeky debut outing. As they ready themselves for another year in which chaos and upheaval are the new standard, I mention that it's unusual for an artist to do what Chambers has done, in excusing herself from the conversation she was a key player in a few years ago. Teasdale nods in agreement, until I suggest their entree into fame involved her looking after her bandmate. 'Hester doesn't need looking after,' she asserts. 'It was just such a strange time, and we were both just trying to make sense of it all, both trying to each work out what our boundaries are. And I think we're both very protective of each other.' 'You have to try things to know whether you get on with them,' Mobaraki says simply, of his girlfriend's move out of the spotlight. 'You have to be out of your comfort zone to know that you're out of your comfort zone. When you want to be in a band when you're young, you don't actually think about, 'Oh yeah, and how would I react to feeling observed by 5000 people while I do my thing?'' Put that way, the rock-star fantasy begins to fray a little at the seams. Teasdale insists the band is 'really happy and settled', and finds the suggestion that they are otherwise to be a distraction. 'It's really funny to see people on the internet pulling their hair out. 'Where's Hester? Where's Hester?' It's like, chill out. It's people like you that probably make her want to retreat. So grabby.'
The Age
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
Wet Leg began as an in-joke. Going viral taught them a lesson
On a breezy May night in London, 5000 people are crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the famous sloped floor of Brixton Academy. Artificial fog wafts onto the stage and a flood of bright orange lights jolt to life, casting Rhian Teasdale, frontperson and guitarist of the rock band Wet Leg, into silhouette. She stalks towards the microphone, fists raised, as if balancing an invisible barbell above her head, or about to claim a wrestling belt. Her bandmates – Hester Chambers on guitar, drummer Henry Holmes, Joshua Mobaraki on synth and guitars and bassist Ellis Durand – are all in white. Teasdale could just as easily be leading an army or a cult. It's the band's first London show after a debut outing that kicked off in 2021 and sounds like a relic from a time in music history: a song, written on a lark, based on an in-joke, struck such a nerve that it spawned a record deal, a follow-up single that went just as viral, a global tour supporting Harry Styles and spots on every festival that matters. There was the full-length record and then multiple Grammy awards in 2023. Where most artists might feel the pressure to do it all over again, Wet Leg have been figuring out how to do it differently. Their green-ness at the beginning made them agreeable and malleable, Teasdale says the following day over coffee in a Brixton cafe. She's hurried to meet me and Mobaraki after a nail appointment and before a soundcheck – there's another show at the venue tonight to prepare for. 'The last album … [we were] just being a bit naive, letting people project their own ideas of what it is to be Wet Leg, what it is to be, like, this off-kilter kind of cottagecore duo.' That duo was, for many years, Teasdale and Chambers. College friends who met on the sleepy Isle of Wight, a place that I know little of besides lyrics from When I'm Sixty-Four and Teasdale's recollection of wanting so badly to leave and move to London, where she now lives with her partner. The offbeat, post-punk style of their music and unserious, eye-rolling lyrics came as a shock to listeners, who hung on their every whispered word. Its popularity was just as shocking to the band members themselves, who never thought anyone would be listening. ' Wet Dream and Chaise Longue – they were stupid songs that we started writing in mine and Hester's flat,' Mobaraki says. Mobaraki, Chambers' long-term partner, witnessed the band's origins when Teasdale was back on the Isle of Wight, crashing on their couch for a weeks-long stretch. 'We were having such a good time making ourselves laugh. It just sort of happened. 'Maybe this is quite a romantic way to think about it, but what's special about Hester and Rhian is that those things they find funny or special happen to resonate with lots of people,' he says, grinning in disbelief at where he and his friends have found themselves. 'It's so cool. I still can't believe it.' Lots of people connecting and paying attention can be a blessing and a curse, though. Chambers soldiered through her social anxiety to promote their first record and tours but has made the call not to do the same this time around. Her speaking voice in interviews is tiny and nervous – a contrast to the strength she unleashes on her guitar – and on stage she'll often turn her back to the audience. In photoshoots, she's become a pro at hiding behind props and her long hair. In shared interviews, she and Teasdale often held eye contact with one another as if a silent, encouraging telekinetic thread was running between them. They were branded as waifish little oddballs, rather than friends keeping each other as solid as possible. Being sweetly dressed, softly spoken young women and entirely new to the industry meant being misrepresented, and they often paid an emotional price. 'There have been occasions with the first album that people have kind of infantalised me and Hester, and kind of separated us from the boys,' Teasdale says. Loading It's one reason why the rules have shifted this time around, and she and her bandmates feel empowered enough to enforce them. 'We are learning to say no to things, and we can say no to things. 'If there's a weird comment on the internet – whilst I'm not trying to give these often quite mad people the time of day, sometimes I think it is important to call it out because … I think for us, having an online presence just happened so quickly and so it's not really something that we really thought about happening when we started the band and being that available for people to cast their opinions and desires upon us.' Give people an inch and they'll take a mile. Or, to be more specific: give men online a new band fronted by pretty young women to bear witness to, and they'll stake a claim and make those women responsible for their slobbering impulses. One of their breakout singles might've been called Wet Dream, but the sing-song delivery of the incendiary line 'What makes you think you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?' was a piercing safety pin deflating any masturbatory fantasies. Nevertheless, they persist. 'It happened the other day: some dude had commented on one of our videos, 'A lot of boys have become men today'.' I'm like, that's so f---ing gross. That's so f---ing weird,' Teasdale says. Sitting in her kitchen chatting to me over Zoom on what promises to be a sweltering London morning a few weeks after the Brixton shows, wearing a white tank top similar to the ones she's worn in Moisturizer 's press photos, album cover and videos, Teasdale mimes a shiver down her spine. 'It was such a strange time and we were just trying to make sense of it all, to work out what our boundaries are.' Rhian Teasdale 'Most of the time I do just ignore it 'cause I don't want to give it any more energy, because it really doesn't warrant that. But I actually commented back and I said, 'Ew, creepy'. And then I checked back and the guy deleted his post entirely. I think people just think that … we are complacent and we're not going to say anything.' Saying yes, nodding along, smiling through the discomfort taught Teasdale that no one wins when she doesn't listen to her gut. So she's turned the volume up on it now, palatability be damned. The cover of Moisturizer shows her crouched on the carpet of a drab suburban bedroom, grinning menacingly. She and Chambers have long, sharp talons that are more pre-historic than glamorous. It's peculiar and leaves an uneasy taste in your mouth. That's entirely the point. 'The more people you get involved, the more diluted the vision becomes, and the more weird iterations you get of what it is that you're setting out to do. It's just been really empowering, being able to have that much autonomy over [our] image. And to build a world around the music and be a bit fake or a bit subversive with it.' Despite occasionally dipping their toes in the discourse and reacting to what they witness there, Wet Leg are by and large revelling in more romantic impulses these days. Rhian met her partner, also a musician, around the same time the band began to gain attention. Chambers and Mobaraki are at their most content when they're at home on the Isle of Wight, going about life by each other's sides. Moisturizer is, more than anything, a totem to intimacy. On album opener CPR, Teasdale mimics a call to emergency services. The crisis? 'Well… the thing is… I… I… I… I… I… I'M IN LOVE'. There's sentimental mooning and rose-tinted dreams of romantic getaways on some tracks, and then there's Pillow Talk, a promise to make her lover sticky, hot, screaming, beg, and 'wet like an aquarium'. After they finally arrived at the end of what felt like endless touring, the band weren't reunited again until they set up a makeshift studio in the seaside town of Suffolk. The idea of hunkering down to make Moisturizer in one fell swoop – rather than tinkering away at singles in stolen moments – appealed to Teasdale. 'It was just like, 'No, I don't want to be sat in the second-album world forever, let's just get it over with'.' The risk of letting in outside pressures and voices, of agonising over whether songs would connect, if people would like them, was too great otherwise. 'We did the old-school rock'n'roll residency. Let's just go and block the world out there and be very self-indulgent about it.' What came out during that time together were songs that dream of exiling someone who's been standing in your light (Mangetout) and a love story dedicated to a person whose presence makes you believe in divine forces (Pond Song). There were songs inspired by the horror movies the band watched together each night (Jennifer's Body) and more than one reference to winding back and planting a sharp uppercut on someone. It's a record with teeth and hard edges, that snarls and snaps. But also one with a fleshy underbelly, a deep delicacy and a vulnerability we weren't permitted to see on Wet Leg's cheeky debut outing. As they ready themselves for another year in which chaos and upheaval are the new standard, I mention that it's unusual for an artist to do what Chambers has done, in excusing herself from the conversation she was a key player in a few years ago. Teasdale nods in agreement, until I suggest their entree into fame involved her looking after her bandmate. 'Hester doesn't need looking after,' she asserts. 'It was just such a strange time, and we were both just trying to make sense of it all, both trying to each work out what our boundaries are. And I think we're both very protective of each other.' 'You have to try things to know whether you get on with them,' Mobaraki says simply, of his girlfriend's move out of the spotlight. 'You have to be out of your comfort zone to know that you're out of your comfort zone. When you want to be in a band when you're young, you don't actually think about, 'Oh yeah, and how would I react to feeling observed by 5000 people while I do my thing?'' Put that way, the rock-star fantasy begins to fray a little at the seams. Teasdale insists the band is 'really happy and settled', and finds the suggestion that they are otherwise to be a distraction. 'It's really funny to see people on the internet pulling their hair out. 'Where's Hester? Where's Hester?' It's like, chill out. It's people like you that probably make her want to retreat. So grabby.'
Los Angeles Times
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
How does Wet Leg roll out a new album? It's just like 'rolling out the doughnut'
At Primavera Sound Barcelona, Rhian Teasdale, 32, emerges from smoke, stained the color orange by stage lights, gallantly flexing her arms in the air. She hovers over the mic, revealing bleached eyebrows and hair that fades from brown roots to pink. Her outfit is highlighted by a trimmed white shirt and neon fishnet leggings — a clear departure from the bohemian style that proved prevalent amid the release of 'Wet Leg' in 2022. Anyone who has seen the five-piece rock ensemble in 2025 will know that this is a visually different band than that of three years ago. 'It was five years ago that we made the 'Chaise Longue' video,' Teasdale says. 'People have seen your image as a certain way, and then you grow, you change. 'It's funny how much people expect you to stay the same, and it's somehow this big statement to grow and change.' She also notes that 'subconsciously,' she had chosen her former attire out of discomfort. Now, feeling more at home in her own skin, she can take a more authentic approach to herself. 'I did not want to be sexualized by men,' she reflects. 'The thought of showing any skin and anyone maybe thinking that it was for the male gaze made me want to cover up and not be noticed. 'It wasn't a conscious gear shift kind of thing, but there are a few things that I can look back on and pinpoint why I'm able to have so much more self-expression.' Still, their self-titled debut — as kitschy and cottagecore as it was in appearance and sound — certainly warranted the reception that it received, featuring tantalizing tracks such as 'Chaise Longue' and 'Wet Dream.' In the latter's music video, Teasdale and Chambers unforgettably prance around in long, blue dresses while sporting lobster claw gloves. But it would be 'Chaise Longue' that snatched up a Grammy award in the alternative music performance category; the band also won for alternative music album. For being stuck within the confines of an island populated by just 140,000 people, Wet Leg's rise was meteoric. Teasdale mentions that the lives of the Isle of Wight natives were 'completely changed'; she was a stylist assistant for commercials in London, bassist Ellis Durand was putting up scaffolding, drummer Henry Holmes was a surf instructor, guitarist Joshua Mobaraki worked in a café and Chambers had taken up a position making jewelry in the family business. Indeed, the 'very sleepy and small-minded' island off the coast of England, known for its beautiful coasts, isaltogether a grain of sand in the Channel, hidden underneath the mainland's shadow. 'You have to take a boat over there,' Teasdale says of the island. 'There's no bridge, there's no tunnel.' Though she's since moved to London, leaving it in the rearview at 18, she notes that Chambers, Mobaraki and Durand still call it home. Holmes also made the mad dash to the city. 'We're all just living our little lives and all of a sudden you're touring the world,' Teasdale says. 'It's crazy going to the Grammys and looking at all the famous people off the telly and just feeling very odd.' Though, it now seems that the group are well adjusted to fame, as they return for their sophomore album, 'Moisturizer.' It's a far more sonically expressive, authentic and raw record than that of its predecessor. Though no one can deny the hypnotic nature of hits like 'Chaise Longue' and 'Wet Dream,' the group has undeniably evolved and it shows across the entire 12-track project. It opens up with the oh-so-smooth 'CPR,' the second single released off the album, which Teasdale describes as 'walking up to a great height [and] jumping into the abyss that is love.' This proves to be a consistent theme across 'Moisturizer,' which often feels like Teasdale's ode to an aching heart. 'CPR' is just the 'launchpad' for the 'rest of the tunes to spawn from.' This pours into 'liquidize,' which teems with a sense of yearning, questioning in heartache , 'So many creatures in the f— world / How could I be your one?' On the rougher 'jennifer's body,' Teasdale's soft delivery shines through to say 'Every day starts and ends with you / Hold me down I get high on you' before taking a backseat and letting Chambers' guitar wail away. 'I think before falling in love this time around with my current partner, I just had no interest in writing love songs,' Teasdale confesses. 'I'd only dated men up until my partner… I feel like the world is so saturated with love songs from a very heteronormative perspective and I felt no interest in it at all.' As for the change of heart: 'I think love just hit me really heavy this time… I'm just so very, very, very, in love.' Hilariously, she also compares the album rollout process this time around to a fairly obscure occupation she was thrown into prior to the band's rise. Teasdale, who once worked as a baker, says their debut was like 'when you start a new job and you've been told you have to make doughnuts.' 'You don't know where any of the stuff is, so someone has to teach you... where the cookie cutters are, and where the box of sugar is,' she says, laughing. 'You know, just like rolling out an album, rolling out the doughnut, rolling out that dough.' A highlight of the album comes in their third single, 'davina mccall,' a mellow and dreamy song that references the famed British 'national treasure' known for her work as a TV presenter on 'Big Brother.' Teasdale says she watched the show as a kid in the 2000s and was always fascinated when McCall would turn to the camera and say, 'This is Davina, I'm coming to get you' when a contestant was eliminated. 'It was a very dramatic moment when Davina McCall was coming to get you,' she says. 'It's kind of a little joke that I'll come and pick you up wherever you are.' Teasdale says McCall even recently came to a Wet Leg show after the band had told her they'd written a song using her name. Thankfully, she was 'so cool' and gave 'the best hugs ever.' But fans will also be pleased to notice that the group has still maintained their signature, bold tongue-in-cheek style of lyrics. On 'mangetout,' Teasdale sings 'You wanna f— me? / I know, most people do' over a smooth riff and declares on 'pillow talk' that 'Every night I f— my pillow / I wish I was f— you.' 'The more muscular sound that is on this album is just the result of five people that have been touring together for something shy of three years,' she says. 'I think my sense of humor will always be the same… it's kind of impossible to leave that behind.' In the last few tracks, the album noticeably slows down. '11:21' is a beautiful song that finds strength in its simplicity. The title is a call back to the day Teasdale met her partner: 'Time goes by / But I feel the same about you since the day we first met,' she sings. It's sandwiched between 'don't speak,' which falls short of capturing the same essence that the rest of 'Moisturizer' is peppered with, and 'u and me at home.' The latter is the album's closer and features some of Chambers' best performances on the album; it's a befitting farewell to an excellent project. 'I think when you're really close with someone, it just means that you don't have to use words,' Teasdale says of working with Chambers. 'It's just easy and joyful and the most natural thing.' 'Moisturizer' hits streaming services and music store shelves on July 11, with all the potential of outperforming their debut, even with it being as successful as it was. Together, the band sounds more refined than three years ago and — if their recent performances are anything to go off of — looks to light up the stage on their North American tour, which starts in September and makes a stop in Los Angeles on Oct. 17. 'I'm just excited for people to hear the rest of the album, because it's just a fun album,' Teasdale says. 'We made it to be played live, so I'm excited for when it's not a secret thing anymore.'
