Dry Cleaning
– New Long Leg
Dry Cleaning
– New Long Leg
If post-punk has a basement, New Long Leg lives in it—flickering fluorescent bulbs, piles of newspapers, an old armchair that’s more ashtray than furniture. Dry Cleaning didn’t come here to scream or shimmer. They came to talk. And talk. Florence Shaw’s vocals aren’t sung so much as dryly delivered, like a voicemail from someone you ghosted in 2014 who’s now reading your diary back to you line by line. Somehow, that works. Because what New Long Leg offers isn’t catharsis. It’s commentary delivered with surgical detachment.
The band’s taut, jagged playing keeps the whole thing from drifting into spoken-word performance art. There’s a real tension here—guitar lines that coil and snap, bass grooves that loiter just long enough to get uncomfortable, drums that play like they’re holding in a panic attack. They don’t decorate; they drive. And they give Florence the perfect cold stage to unravel on. The effect is weirdly hypnotic. Like eavesdropping on a stranger mid-breakdown at a museum gift shop.
The lyrics? Fragmented, absurd, sharply funny. Shaw skips narrative and lands somewhere between internal monologue and passive-aggressive Yelp review. One minute it’s “Do everything and feel nothing,” the next it’s a non-sequitur about hotdogs or laminate flooring. It’s strangely profound—poetry for a generation raised on information overload and emotional buffering. Dry Cleaning isn’t chasing hooks or hearts. They’re documenting the strange, dumb poetry of being alive right now. And they’re doing it with a straight face and a guitar that sounds like it wants to start a fight.
Choice Tracks
Scratchcard Lanyard
The opener sets the tone with deadpan precision. Shaw talks like a bored oracle while the band locks into a groove that’s equal parts wire-tight and weirdly funky. It builds tension without ever blowing up. Like a kettle that never boils.
Unsmart Lady
A snarling little gem where the guitar finally starts to bite. It lurches and jerks under Shaw’s commentary on appearance, power, and all the stupid ways people try to control each other. A feminist sneer hiding in plain sight.
Strong Feelings
Almost romantic, in the way an email from your ex’s accountant might be. It’s about love, kind of. About Brexit, sort of. Mostly it’s about how nothing makes sense and everything feels vaguely threatening. And still, it sticks.
Her Hippo
Maybe the weirdest one here, and that’s saying something. The song slinks along like it’s trying not to be noticed. Guitars flicker in and out, and Florence’s voice is pure non-sequitur heaven. “I’ve been thinking about eating that hotdog for hours.” Haven’t we all.
More Big Birds
This track drags its feet in the best way. It’s the sound of exhaustion, resignation, and weird acceptance. The band stretches out, but never lets go. Shaw mumbles the last rites of modern alienation like she’s reading off a grocery list.
New Long Leg doesn’t shout, doesn’t beg, doesn’t apologize. It just is. Cold, clever, claustrophobic—and quietly hilarious. It’s post-punk that scrolls through Instagram during a funeral. And sometimes, that’s exactly the mood.