moisturizer is the sound of wet leg kicking the sophomore slump square in the teeth. holed up in a countryside hideout like lovesick fugitives with fuzz pedals, they’ve emerged gnarlier, weirder, and wired to the moon. if their debut flirted with chaos, this one dives headfirst into the volcano – feral guitars, manic hooks, and enough emotional wreckage to fuel a decade’s worth of bad decisions. it’s obsession, it’s lust, it’s post-pop therapy with feedback. welcome to the meltdown.

fopp exclusive coke bottle green vinyl / vinyl / cd

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