Outspoken and blissful: Wet Leg and Faux Real rewrite the rulebook in Glasgow.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐(5/5)

**WET LEG PERFORMING AT GLASGOW’S O2 ACADEMY**
**PHOTOCREDIT: CALUM BUCHAN**

Glasgow’s O2 Academy has seen its share of unusual opening acts over the years, but Faux Real may have set a new bar for pure, unfiltered eccentricity. The French-American art-pop duo—brothers Elliott and Virgile Arndt—didn’t so much perform as explode across the stage in a whirl of chaotic rave energy. From the moment they appeared, clad in their trademark minimal-meets-surreal all white androgynous outfits, the room transformed into something between a fever dream and an avant-garde performance piece.

They hurled themselves into the crowd with the abandon of wild animals let loose, limbs flailing in choreographed-but-not-quite acrobatics, the kind of semi-controlled carnage that leaves an audience blinking at one another as if to confirm the experience was real. And that was the magic of Faux Real: utterly bizarre, utterly captivating, and impossible to turn away from. You didn’t watch them so much as surrender to them. By the end, Glasgow was equal parts bewildered and thrilled—exactly the reaction the Arndt brothers seem built to provoke.

But if Faux Real were a trip, Wet Leg were the moment the trip settled into a warm, glowing bonfire. The Isle of Wight band—now a fully formed five-piece with Rhian Teasdale, Hester Chambers, Josh Mobaraki, Ellis Durand, and Henry Holmes—have built a reputation for doing everything entirely on their own terms. Their surfer-punk, cheeky-sharp sound has only grown more confident since the release of their second chart-topping album Moisturizer.

The crowd was a glorious mix of ages—proof of just how broad Wet Leg’s reach has become—and from the opening notes of “catch these fists”, the Academy was a mass of foot-stomping, shoulder-shimmying, shout-along energy.

They tore straight into "Wet Dream", its sly grin of a riff sending the room into instant motion. "Oh No" followed with its frenetic, half-laughing panic, Teasdale’s voice slicing through the haze of lights with magnetic bite. The band’s tightness as a five-piece is undeniable—those surfer-punk edges now sharpened, polished, and perfected without losing any of the scrappy charm.

"Supermarket" was a personal highlight, irresistibly catchy and even more buoyant live than on record. "liquidize" and "jennifer’s body" flexed their knack for weaving sweetness and snarl into something distinctly their own. And "Being in Love" landed with an emotional weight that drew the room back into a collective breath.

Then came some big punchers: "Ur Mum" (with its cathartic extended scream), "don’t speak," and the utterly lovely "davina mcCall," which shimmered with playfulness and tenderness. It's a small ditty in spirit, but huge in the way it wraps itself around you—Wet Leg at their most sweet and charming.

"11:21" offered a brief moment of calm, a soft reset before the chaos re-erupted. Because once they hit "Chaise Longue," the Academy detonated. The whole place became one bouncing organism, shouting every sly, iconic line back at the band. If any song could be called a collective release, it’s that one.

The closing run was electric. "CPR" was a standout, with Teasdale growling “if you’re a ghost then oh my god, oh can you give me the chills” with delicious ferocity. And then "mangetout" sent the night off in a sweet, swirling package—devilishly sugary, deeply satisfying, the perfect end to an unforgettable evening.

Wet Leg continue to prove that their sound is uniquely theirs: punchy, playful, impossible to imitate. Tonight in Glasgow, they didn’t just play a show—they owned the room entirely.