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Midway through “catch these fists,” the opening song of Wet Leg’s show at Roadrunner in Boston on Sunday, lead singer Rhian Teasdale faced the stands, slowly raised her arms, and flexed her biceps to the roar of the crowd.

In the song, the first single off their touring album “Moisturizer,” Teasdale sings about wanting to fight annoying men at the night club over sharp, simple guitar riffs and energetic drums. Bold and self-assured, Teasdale’s pumping fists, tight white briefs, and cropped matching tank top made her look like a WWE fighter. It was hot and hilarious.

It only got better when she pulled out a transparent lime green guitar to strum the opening riff of “Wet Dream,” a single from their self-titled album. “What makes you think you’re good enough to think about me when you’re touching yourself?” she said.

Wet Leg was founded in 2019 by Teasdale and Hester Chambers, who are both from the Isle of Wight. They quickly gained popularity for their sincere and often silly lyrics combined with catchy indie rock riffs after the release of their first single “Chaise Longue,” which seemingly blew up internationally overnight. Their eponymous album that followed lived up to the single in every way — hilariously relatable with scream-along-able lyrics.

Compared to their first album, “Moisturizer” has a broader range. The softer end of which is more about actually being in love than the difficulties of its plight, while the louder end is far more intense both lyrically (“Every time I fuck my pillow I wish that I was fucking you,” Teasdale matter-of-factly sings on “pillow talk” ) and musically (brash drums and prominent guitar). The wonderful thing is that the band members still don’t take themselves too seriously, despite having every right to.

Mid-way through the show, Teasdale pointed her microphone to the audience and asked them to reenact the scream from their hit song “Ur Mum” off of their 2022 album. The crowd happily complied and let out a fearsome, cathartic, minute-long shriek.

The band is bigger in every way since their first widely-acclaimed release, and not only in terms of their stardom. Wet Leg began as a duo, in which Teasdale and Chambers shared somewhat equal footing. Now, Chambers has retreated to a less visible, although no less crucial role in the band — she played guitar with her back facing the crowd for most of the concert — while Teasdale has taken center-stage as the band’s leading persona. Perhaps it’s also because both women are now reportedly in love that the confessions of this new era feel more individualistic in comparison to the conspiratorial angst of the first album. Except for a moment during the concert when the women slid down to the ground together while playing their guitars back to back, you would not guess that the band started off as a duo.

Although the group has not lost their self-deprecating wit and charmingly weird lyrics — “How could I be your one? Be your marshmallow worm?” a lovestruck Teasdale sings in “liquidize” — their new songs contain less of the charming uncertainty surrounding love and relationships that defined their earlier work.

For instance, the band played a softer song from their first album, “Too Late Now,” about not knowing the right choices to make. The guitar sounds like high pitched bells, and Teasdale stood in front of a fan in an orange-lighted cloud of fog, her hair blowing back behind her as she sang the quick, riffing bridge: “I don’t need no dating app to tell me if I look like crap / to tell me if I’m thin or fat, to tell me should I shave my rat / I don’t need no radio, no MTV, no BBC / I just need a bubble bath to set me on a higher path.”

In another slower moment during the show, bubbles floated from the stage over the crowd as Teasdale sang “11:21,” a dreamy, wistful, and drifting love song from their new album. “It’s not like the moon forgets to shine / when I’m not with you / But it feels like it just might,” her voice wavered and peaked.

The band closed out the show with “CPR,” a lustful, electric-guitar-heavy, rock ballad. Teasdale whined the chorus while grinding on the microphone stand: “Put your lips to mine, give me CPR.” Teasdale grabbed a red retro landline phone, twirling and tangling herself in the cables as she sang, “Hello, 999, / What’s your emergency? / Well the thing is / I, I / I, I, I, I’m in love!”

—Staff writer Elise M. Guerrand can be reached at elise.guerrand@thecrimson.com.

—Staff writer Asher J. Montgomery can be reached at asher.montgomery@thecrimson.com. Follow her on X @asherjmont or on Threads @asher_montgomery.