TIM DE LISLE Wet Leg are live and kicking... mostly
Wet Leg UEA, Norwich Touring until Nov 27 ★★★★★
Nick Lowe Nell’s, London
U ntil Saturday ★★★★★
Here’s a quiz question: what do Pulp and Harry Styles have in common? The answer is not much, but they have both signed up the same support act for huge outdoor shows next summer: the two witty young women from the
Isle of Wight who call themselves Wet Leg.
Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers made their name with Chaise Longue, one of the songs that got us through the longueurs of last year. With their novelty value they could easily have been a one-hit wonder. But then came their debut album, which went to No1, reached the Mercury shortlist (in a hard-fought year) and has just brought them five Grammy nominations.
Now, after umpteen festival appearances, Wet Leg are on a headline tour. In a tweet beforehand, they post a setlist: Chaise Longue, 14 times over.
It’s a joke at their own expense that contains a grain of truth.
How are they going to fill the 50 minutes before they play their signature tune?
At the University of East Anglia they draw a sell-out crowd, only about half of them students. For the first 15 minutes, it’s great fun. The songs are snappy, and with three (male) backing musicians, the sound is punchy. The powerpop beat and half-spoken words take older fans straight back to 1978.
Then there’s a sag. Teasdale sings a couple of slower songs, which are missing the sassiness that is Wet Leg’s secret sauce. They never played live before they recorded the album, and it shows. What should be a mass moshpit turns into a tutors’ cocktail party.
They get back on track with Ur Mum, which has pace and exuberance, and Angelica, which throbs with punk energy. Then Teasdale says ‘Here it comes’ and everybody knows what she means.
Chaise Longue duly raises the roof. Many hits are bittersweet, but this one is clever-dumb, and the students have a ball shouting out the words.
Wet Leg need to fix the sag in the middle (maybe add a cover or two). But by starting well and finishing even better, they have shown that they’ll shine as a stadium support act.
Meanwhile, in West Kensington, Nick Lowe settles in for a supperclub residency. It’s 43 years since his last hit, Cruel To Be
Kind, and 48 since his finest hour, Brinsley Schwarz’s (What’s So Funny ’Bout) Peace, Love
And Understanding, but as he performs alone with his acoustic guitar, the decades drop away.
The typical Lowe creation is timeless, crafted, deceptively simple. You hear every word – and feel it. ‘I go to the bin, I throw the laundry in,’ he sings on Lately I’ve Let Things Slide. ‘And pick out the cleanest shirt. Then I tell myself again, I don’t really hurt.’ Five short lines, one masterclass.
At 73, Lowe has found his niche, halfway from Johnny Cash to Bill Nighy. He channels Chuck Berry on I Knew The Bride, covers the Bee Gees on Heartbreaker, yet always remains himself. The man is, or should be, a national treasure.