Forget the chaise longue, Wet Leg brought the punk and pool tubes to Leeds’ newest lido on a sweltering Yorkshire night.

The Isle of Wight five-piece brought their sophomore album Moisturizer back again to the North, this time within the contained square that was the uniquely metropolitan backdrop of Leeds Millennium Square, complete with hometown heroes, untamed chaos, and... pool noodles?

Leeds Millennium Square isn't just your average clogged festival field or sticky-floored academy.

It’s a sweeping, stone-clad urban amphitheatre enclosed by the city’s impressive civic architecture.

Wet Leg delivered a sweltering summer set in Leeds. Photo: Luc Burke-Lejeune

placeholder image — Wet Leg delivered a sweltering summer set in Leeds. Photo: Luc Burke-Lejeune

As the pleasingly distinctive setting is surrounded by a host of monolithic Leeds buildings that anchor this prominent civic hub as a must-see for live shows, this scenic mix of historic municipal landmarks and modern art venues encapsulates the audience into a concrete cladded forest, all the while briefly cutting off contact with the rest of the world for a momentary blessing of anthems and guitar enlightened chaos.

Thousands were packed into the open-air arena for this edition of the Sounds of the City series, yet the aforementioned imposing city backdrop, thankfully, for me and the rest of the crowd, conducted an unreturnable favour.

The towering buildings flanking the square threw long, generous shadows across the four-sided tarmac for most of the show, creating a blessed pocket of shade that kept everyone beautifully cool while the July heat hummed overhead.

The inconceivably warm evening kicked off finely with what can only be described as a masterclass in modern British indie, courtesy of a stellar double-header of support acts, that had the unpronounced job of warming up an audience that was on the edge of sweltering into a moisturised puddle, yet against the heated odds, I am confident in saying they prepped the audience generously.

Crowds lapped up a feast of music on a balmy summer's night. Photo: Luc Burke-Lejeune

Opening the night were Theatre, they composed an artfully distilling set, with a courageous yet intriguing tone of guitars that contrasted pleasantly with the frontwoman’s demanding vocals, ensuring the sweaty legs of the early arrivals were thawing out hastily.

Their brief and atmospheric set saw undeniable influences from the headlining band’s own stylish wardrobe of post-punk theming, and one can only imagine that this, as well as their charged ambitions, earned them their commendable place on tonight’s billing.

But if that wasn’t enough for the Yorkshire crowd, how about one of your own?

As Leeds’ very own English Teacher, sparked a hometown light within the bubbling audience that went on to truly ignite the hometown crowd in a sparking bliss of coursing art-rock ingenuity.

The band rattled through their classic album Moisturizer. Photo: Luc Burke-Lejeune

The ‘24 Mercury Prize winners looked utterly massive on the hometown stage, owning every single second of their formidable performance.

Frontwoman Lily Fontaine commanded the paved square with the magnetic poise of a headline act, as their sharp, kitchen-sink post-punk lyricism drew in massive roars from an audience utterly proud to claim them as their own.

By the time the sweetly desired headliners emerged, the mood had promptly shifted from art-rock cool to pure, unadulterated hedonism.

The original Wet Leg duo of Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers sauntered out into an absolute tempest of heavy stage production and a sea of their fans young and old, bottled by a picturesque city backdrop that has only ever welcomed bands of this calibre with arms out open wide.

Crowds endured a sticky night in Leeds. Photo: Luc Burke-Lejeune

Artistically the stage crew had clearly dialled the punchy effects up to eleven, resulting in an excessive fog creation from the smoke machines that had probably lost their switch off-button along the way of Wet Leg’s latest road trip across the UK, as the paper-white mist stretched out athwart the lengths of the Leeds stage, it completely devoured the five-piece, leaving only shadowy silhouettes of members closest to the front, dancing against the pale neon backdrops.

Yet when the first buzzing notes of Catch These Fists kicked in emphatically, paired alongside a fiery assault of blinding strobes that cautiously pierced through that relentlessly thick haze, creating a disorienting, warehouse-rave-meets-indie-punk spectacle.

Riding unprecedentedly high on the success of their second album Moisturizer, their sonic palette has grown immense muscle.

What defined the night was the sheer, unrelenting wall of indie guitars through each ringingly alternative anthem.

Aged tracks like Chaise Longue and Wet Dream received that unapologetic expectation of ear-splitting receptions, but newer cuts like CPR and Jennifer’s Body proved that their knack for infectious, caustic hooks hasn't diminished one single bit.

As the guitars were louder, heavier, and more layered than ever before, turning the concrete square into a vibrating amplifier.

Wet Leg in Leeds. Photo: Luc Burke-Lejeune

But a Wet Leg show is nothing without its signature brand of surrealist fun, and tonight the Leeds crowd matched that energy entirely.

Right in the middle of a roaring performance of Ur Mum, just before Teasdale unleashed her signature, venue-coating scream, the centre of the pit erupted into a glorious sea of bodies and absurdity.

Yet, dead centre in the united crowd, what can only be described as a small mountain of neon-coloured pool tubes suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I must’ve blinked for a solid minute from all the strobes, as within seconds, the floating inflatables were chucked about freely across the energy-driven spectators, bouncing off heads, hands, pints and any other item that was above head-height, as the vibrant noodles went flying through the blinding strobe lights ahead, creating a makeshift, landlocked beach party.

It was exactly the kind of joyful, unpredictable chaos that Wet Leg has come to embody over the years, as they closed their stinging performance with the cleverly French-titled Mangetout.

The formidably untiring band of five served up a tyrannous set that effortlessly balanced their Grammy-winning roots with the fresh grit of their new material, the band may have left the Leeds folk in a cloud of ever-lasting fog, ringing ears, and a stray of dispossessed pool tubes.

But after a performance this relentlessly searing and frenzied, the crowd is going to need a lot more than just 'Moisturizer' to soothe the sweat and the whiplash that they just endured in Leed’s newly landlocked lido.

As that stimulating Wet Leg tide that crashed onto Yorkshire shores was a triumphant and characteristically beautiful fling, resulting in an absurdist masterclass in the alternative.