Wet Leg’s rise from lockdown obscurity to global indie royalty has been as fast as it has been fun, their deadpan wit and wiry hooks carrying them from “Chaise Longue” novelty to award-hoarding festival headliners in barely three years. In that time, Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers have evolved from a wry Isle of Wight duo into a fully realised five-piece, amassing accolades, touring the world, and cementing themselves as one of indie rock’s defining acts. Fresh from releasing their second album moisturizer in July, they arrive at a sold-out Camp & Furnace tonight for an intimate outstore that feels both a celebration and a statement. The new record sees the full line-up step into the spotlight, delivering songs that are sharper, stranger and more heartfelt without losing the off-kilter charm that made their debut such a lightning rod.

The heat in the room is turned up to 11, let alone the sound — bodies slick with sweat before the first chorus has landed. “Catch These Fists” tears the night open under a blitz of strobe lighting, a dramatic tonal shift from the looser, more coy performances of Wet Leg’s early days. Teasdale steps away from her guitar to command the stage with assured, purposeful presence, striking a strongwoman pose in a wrestler’s stance before breaking into a sly, knowing grin that sets the tone. Wet Leg remain a fascinating band to watch; one moment they’re near-motionless and poker-faced, the next they’re bouncing across the stage in a burst of chaotic energy. Some of the night’s most electric moments come when Teasdale and Chambers lock eyes mid-song, their unspoken exchanges sparking the same kind of onstage electricity you’d expect from classic rock ’n’ roll partners-in-crime. It’s a bold and arresting opening that makes clear this isn’t a band interested in standing still.

The hits are undeniable, but it’s the new material from moisturizer that gives tonight its edge. “Davina McCall” stands as a clear highlight, its dreamy, synth-washed glow made warmer still by the closeness of the venue. There’s a collective sense in the room that this could be their next biggest song, its blend of shimmering melody and unguarded charm met with one of the loudest receptions of the night. “Pillow Talk” is a different beast entirely — live, its thick, grinding guitar lines hit with far more weight than on record, shaking the rafters and drawing roars from the crowd. Elsewhere, moments of stillness are allowed to breathe, letting delicate melodies land before the band snap back into hook-driven mischief. These songs, textured and unpredictable on the album, open up even further on stage; they feel less like faithful recreations and more like living, breathing pieces built to feed off the energy in the room.

And then there’s “Chaise Longue” — the song that started it all. It needs no reinvention and no introduction; it speaks entirely for itself now, stamped with the kind of impression that will likely make it the fan favourite for years to come. Even in the stifling heat, not a single ounce of energy drains from the crowd. The opening riff lands like a starting pistol and the room is instantly transformed into one giant, sweaty, euphoric singalong.

As the last chords fade and the lights dip, the air in Camp & Furnace is thick with heat, noise and the kind of shared exhilaration that only comes from being in the right place, at the right time, with the right band. Wet Leg have taken the wit, charm and sharp edges of their debut, amplified them with moisturizer, and proven that this chapter isn’t just a continuation — it’s a surge forward. The crowd spills out into the warm Liverpool night still buzzing, proof that Wet Leg’s momentum isn’t slowing down any time soon.