Sheffield’s answer to The Dare?
Well, no! Not quite. At least, not according to the (wet) man himself. But we’ll get to that.
Wet Man takes to the stage and begins awkwardly shuffling around (throughout, it’s unclear if this is an act or simply his personality).
As he tests bits of kit in front of a massive TV screen looping Wheel of Fortune, the bloke standing next to me uses this lull to shout, “Fuck off, Wet Man!” I already know what sort of rowdy Saturday night crowd we’re in for.
I’d seen Wet Man once before, at Get Together when it was still held at the uni, and to be honest, after that daytime show in the grand Firth Hall setting, I didn’t quite get it. Fast forward a few years, though, and there’s a new EP, I Believe in Lizard Men, on the way – and it makes for exciting listening.
Somewhere between the insistent ’80s beats of local faves Cabaret Voltaire and the more melodic electroclash of acts like Crystal Castles or Ladytron, all knitted together with a sardonic delivery akin to Viagra Boys’ Sebastian Murphy, it’ll deffo get you well riled up while you’re doing the washing up.
After a set-opening mix of Yorkshire Tommy Cooper-style stand-up and deadpan Jarvis Cocker-esque pathos, Wet Man launches into his latest single, ‘Lizard Men’ – a throbbing take on David Icke and conspiracy theories. As he gyrates, Wheel of Fortune is replaced on the TV screen by a spinning image of David Icke’s boat race. It’s all very surreal.
It’s at this point that I unexpectedly become the focus of the gig. He mentions that Exposed is in the audience. I keep quiet. He asks for Exposed to speak up. I sheepishly wave but continue my vow of silence. Luckily, Wet Man has a pair of dark Wayfarers on and can’t see my half-hearted wave, so he decides I’m not there.
He spends a few minutes digging me out for not turning up, suggesting I’ve probably gone to see Hot Soles in the other room. He then riffs on The Everly Pregnant Brothers’ bastardisation of Bob Marley, given that the two bands now share a lead singer.
The gig continues with songs about Michael Barrymore’s pool party, while Exposed remains a recurring call-back. I’m still hiding, not daft enough to shout out to a man with a mic and get rinsed for five minutes. My mate threatens to reveal my whereabouts. Other audience members admit to speaking to me before the gig. Our photographer gets accosted.
“Are you Exposed?… I’ll expose you!” declares Wet Man.
I’ve positioned myself behind the tallest member of the audience. Safety.
So, what of the actual music? Well, as mentioned at the top of the review, there are some similarities between Wet Man and the indie sleaze of LCD Soundsystem covers act The Dare. They even look a bit alike.
Wet Man tells a story about discovering he had a doppelgänger. In a moment of weakness, he put up an Instagram poll asking his audience who they preferred: himself or The Dare.
Mortified when The Dare won, he asked why. A woman replied online: “Because The Dare writes songs about drugs and kissing girls, while you write songs about Greek philosophy.”
Wet Man considers this before announcing, “This next one’s called ‘Plato’s Cave’.” And then, inevitably, he dives into a song about drugs and kissing girls.
The set is full of these musical punchlines, and while the tunes themselves can at times be a bit formulaic – much like Sleaford Mods (who haven’t exactly suffered for it) – they’re all incredibly danceable, and the lyrics are full of wit.
Once the queue for merch has died down, I approach Wet Man and introduce myself. He looks a bit sheepish, puts his head in his hands and apologises, explaining that he had a whole bit prepared and was going to bring it back around to how appreciative he was of the recent coverage.
I make my own excuses for not taking part, and we laugh it off – it’s been an interesting night!
