Wet Leg Deliver A Sexy, Ferocious Set at UNSW Roundhouse

One thousand screams erupt into the UNSW Roundhouse Theatre. Some are deep bellowing howls. Others, sharp wailing cries. Together, they form one deafening, cathartic roar. Strobes flash into this screaming audience. And upon the stage, Wet Leg, the beloved UK indie-rock five-piece, pause their driving music to watch with glee.

The band are halfway through their sold-out February 9th performance, and for a full minute – a ritual when playing their 2022 hit, Ur Mum – they simply let us scream.

Finally, with his sticks above his head, drummer Henry Holmes counts the band back in. “One, Two, Threeee and –” a buoyant psych-rock riff dances from Hester Chambers’ guitar to join front-person Rhian Teasdale’s joyful cooing “do-do-do’s”. The band falls back into their music with jovial energy, contrasting the primal catharsis of moments ago.

This contrast perfectly defines the band’s entire hour-long performance. Arriving behind a screen of thick glowing smoke, Teasdale had begun with an unmistakable air of toughness. Baring silhouetted biceps to the room, a fan at her feet had blown her hair medusa-like around her face. To a pounding bass which built toward a chorus of loud drums and screaming guitar, she had delivered the dry, barbed lyrics of Catch These Fists.

“I know all too well what you’re like,” her heroic silhouette had spat over a siren-like riff, “I don’t want your love, I just wanna fight.”

Then, as the smoke lifted and lights illuminated both Teasdale’s camp outfit and the band around her, the five-piece had leaped into the tongue-in-cheek hyper-sexual fan favourite Wet Dream.

The diversity of these two tracks – the first off the band’s most recent 2025 album, Moisturiser, and the second from their Grammy award-winning self-titled 2022 debut Wet Leg – demonstrated a trend which persisted through the rest of the night.

As the band worked through their catalogue, it became clear that despite their music primarily focusing on female empowerment, over their two albums they have tackled this theme in vastly different manners.

Favourites from the debut are built around sarcastic sexual innuendo and tales of pathetic men. Hits such as Chaise Longue, Wet Dream, and Ur Mum, humorously poke fun at male downfalls – notably the consistent sexualisation of women. Meanwhile, those off Moisturiser see the band mature, surrendering the playful façade and leaning into the raw power of femininity.

This presents in the form of anger, like in favourites Catch These Fists and Mangetout, or sincere love, like in CPR and Davina McCall.

With a healthy dose of tracks from both albums, the band’s set-list was brilliantly textured. Teasdale’s vocal performance ranged from candid to comedic to angelic. Meanwhile, her bandmates were allowed ample opportunity to have fun with catchy riffs, slow into beautiful love songs, or – with Teasdale joining on her own translucent green guitar – let loose with tirades of weaponised distortion.

Considering how scathingly loud the guitar grew, or how rhythmically catchy many of the songs were, it was surprising the audience never descended into a heaving mosh-pit or really moved to the rocking music at all. Instead, rather than dancing, every person who pressed into the humid theatre was enthralled in the band’s scintillating visual expression of rock.

Finally, in a refreshing change from the normal faux ending audience members have come to expect, the band abruptly finished after a scintillating rendition of Mangetout.

Without a word of goodbye, the five members dropped their instruments and left the stage for good.

House lights rose, and stunned by what we had witnessed, we collectively drifted away.