POMONA, CA- Wet Leg, the Isle of Wight duo made up of Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers, have had a pretty rapid rise over the past few years. What started off feeling loose and almost offhand, with songs that didn’t take themselves too seriously, quickly turned into something bigger once the hit single “Chaise Longue” took off. Since then, they’ve moved fast, going from smaller indie spaces to sold-out theaters. With only two albums out so far, they’ve built a following that feels both loyal and fully tapped in. Their sound sits somewhere between post-punk and indie rock, but what really stands out is their delivery, dry and understated, with a kind of confidence that feels natural and intentional.
That sense of confidence doesn’t come across as forced or overly polished. Instead, it feels embedded in how they approach their music overall. The tone stays consistent whether it’s in their recorded work or how those same songs land in a live setting. There’s a restraint in how things are delivered, but it never feels like anything is being held back. If anything, it allows the smaller details to stand out more, especially when the songs rely on repetition and rhythm as much as they do on lyrics.
As part of Goldenvoice’s “Goldenvoice Presents April” series, which brings Coachella artists into smaller venues across Southern California, Wet Leg stopped by the Fox Theater Pomona on Wednesday night. Coming right around their festival appearance at Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, the show traded the massive scale of Coachella for a more contained, intimate setting. That shift in scale changes the way the music is received. Instead of getting lost in a wide-open space, everything feels more immediate, with the sound and energy staying contained within the room.
By the time the floor started filling up, it was clear what kind of crowd this was: fans ready for their mix of dry humor lyricism, catchy hooks, rhythm-driven songs, and a set that leans just as much on energy as it does on attitude. The reaction didn’t feel tentative. It felt like people already knew what they were there for and were ready to meet the band at that level from the start.
The show was completely sold out, and you could feel it before anything even started. The floor filled in tight, with a crowd that stayed engaged the whole time, singing and chanting between songs, dancing as soon as the band kicked in. That kind of consistency from the crowd plays a big role in how a set unfolds. When the energy doesn’t dip, it gives the performance a steady momentum that doesn’t need to be forced.
The setup itself was pretty minimal, but the lighting carried a lot of the weight. Fast, flashing strobes cut through the room, shifting from bright to dark in quick bursts, at times hitting so fast it felt almost blinding. That constant shift added a sense of movement even in moments where the band held a steady groove. It gave the set a kind of restless unpredictability that matched the band’s energy once they got going, reinforcing the pacing rather than distracting from it.
Wet Leg opened with “Catch These Fists” and “Wet Dream,” which felt like a fitting way to start the night. It set the tone right away: tight, playful, rhythm-driven, and just enough edge to pull the crowd in without overdoing it. Starting with songs like that makes the direction of the set clear early on. There’s no long buildup or slow introduction, just a direct entry into the sound and energy that defines them.
From there, the energy built pretty naturally, with the band leaning into the kind of repetition and playfulness that makes their songs hit harder live. That repetition doesn’t feel static. Instead, it creates a rhythm that the crowd can settle into, allowing each section of a song to land with more weight. The playfulness in their songwriting carries through in those moments, making even the more straightforward structures feel engaging.
A few moments really pushed the crowd into full participation. During “Ur Mum,” the final stretch of the song built into that cathartic scream, and before it hit, Rhian counted it in—“Ok here we go, 1, 2, 3”—cueing the audience to join her. The room followed instantly, screaming along for a solid stretch that felt louder than the band at points. It’s the kind of moment that relies on timing and trust between the performer and the audience, and here it landed exactly as intended.
Later on, during their breakthrough “Chaise Longue,” she played into the crowd again, delivering lines before pointing the mic outward, letting the audience fill in the now-familiar lyrics. When she hit the “excuse me” line, the crowd immediately fired back with a loud “what!?” You could tell people really knew the words, and it wasn’t hesitant at all. That level of familiarity changes the dynamic of a performance. It turns certain lines into cues rather than just lyrics, creating moments where the audience becomes part of the delivery.
For most of the set, Rhian stayed front and center, carrying the performance while the rest of the band held things down just behind her, keeping everything tight and steady. That structure gave the set a clear focal point without losing the cohesion of the full band. The instrumentation stayed consistent, providing a solid foundation that allowed the vocals and front-facing energy to stand out.
But there were moments where that shifted a bit. During “Pillow Talk,” especially in those louder, guitar-heavy sections, she stepped back to join them, picking up her guitar and facing her bandmate while they played off each other. That change in positioning altered the feel of the performance slightly, bringing the focus inward toward the band itself rather than outward toward the crowd. It created a different kind of energy, one that felt more contained before opening back up again.
I only really got into Wet Leg sometime last year, and their current hit “Mangetout” ended up on repeat for weeks. So it wasn’t a surprise they saved it for the end. The song already carries this pulsing, forward-moving groove that’s built on catchy guitar lines and a steady, driving beat. When performed live, it felt more pushed. The drums hit harder, the guitars came through with more bite, and the whole thing had a heavier sense of momentum.
That shift in intensity didn’t change the structure of the song, but it did change how it landed. The added weight behind each element gave it a stronger sense of direction, making it feel less contained and more expansive within the room. It didn’t feel held back at all. It landed like a full release.
Hearing it in that setting hit differently. When a song you’ve been looping in your own space suddenly fills a room like that, it taps into something else entirely. It’s familiar, but amplified and shared with a crowd that’s on the same wavelength. The recognition of the song becomes collective, and that shared awareness changes the experience in a way that’s hard to replicate outside of a live setting.
It’s one of those moments that really only exists in a live setting, where something personal shifts into something collective in real time. That shift doesn’t rely on anything extra being added. It comes from the combination of familiarity, energy, and the environment itself. And once it happens, it tends to linger a bit, even after the set moves on or the show ends.
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