With the addition of longtime touring members
Henry Holmes
,
Ellis Durand
, and
Josh Mobaraki
to the lineup,
Wet Leg
are no longer just the cheeky duo of
Hester Chambers
and
Rhian Teasdale
. On
Moisturizer
, they're a full-fledged band in the business of making full-fledged albums, not just virally catchy singles like "Chaise Longue." They still excel at that, though: "Catch These Fists," a spiky anthem for anyone who's been harassed at a club when all they wanted to do was dance with their friends, is the album's most typical
moment. They discover new shades of sass on the scornful strut of "Mangetout," where
Teasdale
's delivery of lines like "Good job/Give you an A" lands like a withering eye-roll. More often,
let their bravado slip. As anyone who prides themself on being independent knows, trusting someone with your heart can be terrifying. On
, the band compared being in love to sickness; on
, they fight those feelings, give in to them, and ultimately realize how great love can be with the right person. Their deadpan vocals and frenzied playing capture this emotional sea change perfectly, mirroring feelings that can no longer be suppressed. Siren-like synths and surging riffs accompany
's breathless confessions on "CPR," which depicts love as an emergency that's half panic, half euphoria.
Chambers
, and company may be head over heels, but they haven't lost their tongue-in-cheek attitude. There's still an edge to heartfelt moments like
' "Pond Song," and when they daydream about someone special on "Liquidize," their inimitable cool is intact.
's expanded lineup also lets them stretch their sound to express the different flavors of love. "Pillow Talk" stage dives into grungy lust, with
laying on the innuendo as thick as the distortion; later, she scales angelic heights on "11:51," a surprisingly delicate ballad that reinforces how much
's range has grown since their debut album. Even the pop culture references feel more varied, spanning the subversive feminist allusions within the sensuous shoegaze of "Jennifer's Body" to "Davina McCall," which wraps nods to the Big Brother host and
Shakira
in guileless indie pop.
isn't always softer or smoother than
, but it is more candid.
's newfound awareness of her queerness led her to open up in her songwriting with appealingly approachable results on songs like "Pokémon," where irresistibly silky choruses and whimsical lyrics ("you just gotta choose me/yeah I'll be your Pokémon") deepen the emotions instead of diluting them. By the time the album closes with "U and Me at Home"'s rowdy celebration of domestic bliss,
have let down their hair -- and their guard -- completely. Even without a breakout hit like "Chaise Longue,"
is more confident, and more revealing, than
's debut. These are love songs for people who don't want to fall in love, made by a band that sounds more comfortable in its skin than ever. ~ Heather Phares