Jarvis Cocker brings Common People (and uncommon brilliance) to Pulp’s reunion tour
Seagulls wheeled squawking overhead, as if planning attacks. Along the seafront, hordes of middle-aged men and women in glitter and crushed velvet descended upon the art deco Bridlington Spa in a mood of joyous anticipation, the grown-up “mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits” come to claim their promised future. In the wet sand below, someone had spelled out a message: WE LOVE PULP.
The second summer of Britpop is underway, and soon no one will be safe from vast crowds roaring “Let’s all meet up in the year 2000!” Or maybe… 2023? Last week, Blur played a blazing warm up show in a tiny arts centre in Colchester, the town where they were raised. This week, it was the turn of Jarvis Cocker and his band of unapologetic weirdos to revisit their beloved back catalogue on (almost) home turf (85 miles east of Sheffield, but with nicer sea views). “We last played Brid in 1996, hands up if you were here?” asked Cocker, and then, looking sceptically at a rowdy party pressed against the barricades, noted: “You weren’t even born!”
It has been 22 years since Pulp released an album, and 11 since they last played a concert. At 59, Cocker appeared untouched by time, still a nerdy beanpole, all elbows and knees, in purple velvet suit and thick spectacles. He flitted energetically about the stage, jumping on and off box platforms, enacting his lyrics in geeky mime, like a cross between David Bowie and Mr Bean. The voice has grown richer on the bottom end, still weedily thin on top, but his theatrical delivery (from wry deadpan to tender, bemused and incandescent) remains pitch perfect, providing compelling focus for dazzling songs of twisted romance and kitchen sink drama. Cocker is a true British original, what you might get if Alan Bennett and Victoria Wood had a rock and roll love child. After years of listening to his interesting solo material and warm stints as a BBC 6 Music DJ, it was so good to have him back where he shines brightest.
Bassist Steve Mackey died recently, his loss acknowledged on a plangently touching Something Changed. A 7-piece string section plus three auxiliary musicians buoyed the surviving quartet of Cocker (on occasional guitar), Nick Banks (nifty drums), Mark Webber (sharply minted lead guitar parts) and Candida Doyle (provider of wonky keyboard hooks and backing vocals). The sound was fulsome, the strings adding luxurious depth and percussion emphasising Pulp’s overlooked grooviness.
Britpop is sometimes characterised as a loutish genre, but its finest exemplars (Pulp, Blur, Suede and, yes, even Oasis) offered an arty, inventive, slyly seditious illumination of working-class British values. The volume at which this 1700-strong audience bellowed every razor-sharp line of Common People was something to behold, an alternative pop national anthem transforming class anger into righteous joy. If this was just the warm up, better get your ear plugs ready for Pulp’s big summer shows.
Outside, the sea had washed away the words in the sand, but the crowd still singing the refrain of a final encore of Mis-Shapes demonstrated that the sentiments were indelible. We love Pulp.
Touring until July 29. Info and tickets: www.linktr.ee/welovepulp
