Right as tickets go live, Madi kicks a cup of coffee I foolishly placed on the floor across the room. This is a threat to her couch that I love very much. I’m a tad hungover and torn between giving up on seeing Wet Leg all together or multitasking my way through the online waiting room. Madi, aware how excited I was for this, tosses me her phone to double fist with the paper towels and lock in. WhenBy the time I gather my cool, it is too late. Dammitall. 

I send a hail mary DM to Market Hotel explaining that I am writing a feature on “the moments that define New York in 2025 and I’d love to include Wet Leg at Market Hotel.” I haven’t flexed or requested press accolades in many months and yelp in relief when I hear back 22 minutes later.

There’s no hot new night or specific space that consistently drags me out on a weekday like Channel One and Cherry Bomb once did. I feel everyone is wary or too broke to present something new or original because it feels expensive or irresponsible to have fun when a huge chunk of the population is in a rut. On Mondays in ‘25, I work hard, self isolate, and water my plants. But on this Monday, it’s raining and I mean business– or journalism.

I’m a Market Hotel virgin. A friend tells me that most New Yorkers lose their Market Hotel virginity while they’re still underage. The venue is known for its window that strobes to nighttime commuters on the JMZ platform– a tired Tik Tok hook for people who say EDM instead of Electronic Music. I am excited to see the space for myself. Hopping off the train after two stops of band and venue lore, the forty three way intersection at Myrtle Broadway clangs and thrusts. Dunkin’ Donuts. Checkers. Popeyes.

The sun is still out but the staff has that cute casualness found at a warehouse afters. A few people buzz out front looking for tickets– eventually the line wraps around the building. I am pleasantly surprised with the space. It has almost a Bay Area downplayedness to it. As the opener starts, the acoustics stoke me up for the set to come.

The first Wet Leg single in 2 years is dropping tonight, Catch These Fists, and they open with it. It is a brazen tune that swaggers somewhere between MIA word play and Soulwax live. Rhian Teasdale, the lead singer, flexes on stage as the song chugs along with brute force– they’re so back. The fivesome’s picnic chic, downplayed midsommar, and cottage core outfits are old news. Teasdale, a seasoned stylist, is surely behind the new look: lots of white basics, Manson kids as depicted by Anne Imhoff, clearly influenced by Los Angeles at its nastiest.

Teasdale shines with her faded pink bleach cut, a Praying Holy Spirit bikini bottom over white gym shorts [as featured in the music video], and a tight wife beater. Fans, myself and Madi included, gawk. Recreating the “moisturizer” artwork, Wet Leg co-founder Hester Chambers looks back towards the window and away from the crowd for much of the set. Henry Holmes, on drums, and Joshua Mobaraki, on guitar and synth, hit every note from the edge of the shadows. Ellis Durand, on bass, is engaged and feels important. 

The set roars on with the classics and new tunes that have the entire building bouncing as follows:

catch these fists

Oh No

Wet Dream

liquidize

Too Late Now

davina mccall

pillow talk

mangetout

Chaise Longue

Ur Mum

Angelica

CPR

I laugh, recalling Narduwar’s least revealing interview to date in which he asks, “Why should people care about Wet Leg?” Teasdale cheekily replies, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” That energy is what makes the set so good. A few years back when the project, they didn’t care if they were good. Now they know they are good.

I’m late to take a next day recap live so it takes me a couple of weeks to gather my thoughts on what matters. I land on, in this moment of global chaos, our creative class and tastemakers should follow in Wet Leg’s footsteps: don’t conform and take pride in the fact that you are not for everyone. If something is for everyone right now, it is flawed [ie; bigots, racists, and sexists alike are at “the rave”]. Wet Leg at the Market Hotel has come to represent a north star for me: I want to be there, the artist wants to be there, and so does everyone in attendance. Wet Leg are at the forefront of cool. I’m confident that soon, they will signal to the world that audiences are ready for fresh, original sounds and stories. If you’re in New York, look for these artists and these moments– they’re surely the moments that will define 2025.