Sometimes, More Is Less

Pulp’s reunion has been all over the press here, and understandably so- they’ve not made a studio album in twenty four years. I was so excited to hear the latest fruits of their labour, as Jarvis Cocker is one of the UK’s most astute frontmen and waspish wits.

I love the outsiders; the oddballs, the misfit kids with quick quips and wild threads, grown into awkward auto-didacts. Pulp spoke to a working-class audience. Theirs is a low-key aesthetic, for people who were told, “don’t even try, you’ll amount to nothing”, who felt sidelined for the ones with money and influence. Their songs dealt with furtive sexuality that lurked in un-glamorous corners as chaos loomed large and the noise in your head drowned out any sense of ambition. Negative reinforcement was the experience of so many of us in a toxically positive world.

I related to Common People, Babies, Acrylic Afternoons, Pencil Skirt, Lipgloss, Underwear, My Legendary Girlfriend. These are the songs of thwarted desire, judgmental neighbours gossiping over fences, violence,class division and crap sex and limited options. Disillusionment,disgust, rage,depression and anxiety. Someone had to provide the alternative to shiny Britpop. Pulp were arch of brow, bri of nylon, chroniclers of the underwhelmed. Luckily they were in good company with Radiohead, and The Smiths before them. (I realise Radiohead are posh but they reject their privilege through self-awareness and decency).

And so the new album More has finally been released. Oh…dear. Rather than push the conversation forward, we’re being treated to self-parody. There are easy rhymes plodding rhythms, and no truly startling moments. There’s nothing to bring goosebumps like This Is Hardcore. Cocker references Stone Roses on Spike Island, and imagines shagging someone in a charity shop on Tina. Partial Eclipse is rather lovely, but despite the general critical acclaim, I’m extremely disappointed and find myself in the minority again. Sometimes, more is actually less. Maybe next time.