A still from the film Pulp: A Film About Life,Death And Supermarkets
Once again, Pulp find themselves positioned as the indie outsiders. While their recent reunion and album garnered much enthusiasm (despite being a little disappointing) it’s Oasis who yet again get the headlines, playing to thousands.
I wonder how Jarvis, Candida, Nick and Mark feel about this. Nothing much has changed in terms of “rock royalty” (cringing as I type this phrase)- the more traditional, laddish meat and potatoes fare trumps the Sheffield oddballs yet again. BBC 1’s news bulletin was frothing over the Gallagher brothers on Friday, even sending their arts correspondent out in an Oasis t shirt. They then positioned her in the crowd of overenthusiastic fans, waxing lyrical about branded bucket hats and tea towels: cutting edge dispatches from the frontline there.
Ar Kid in Adidas
The only Pulp merchandise I can vividly remember from the nineties was pink underwear emblazoned with the slogan, ” Jarvis gives me Pulp-itations”, a cheeky pun and strangely coy acknowledgment of the awkward frontman ‘s status as an unlikely pin -up.
Jarvis Cocker was “The People’s Pervert”, to paraphrase Tony Blair gushing over Princess Diana in glib eulogy. He was thin, gangly and head to toe in an Oxfam bagful of retro threads, a knowing wink to antecedents like Roxy Music, Bowie and The Smiths, all of whom helped to shape their sound and sharpen their focus. It was anti -fashion as fashion statement, a visual representation of the many contradictions within Pulp- sex, but in an unsexy environment; bookishness, but with a side order of bitterness. Everything Oasis celebrate, Pulp are underwhelmed by: working-class roots, years on the dole, big, anthemic choruses. Cocker became a star almost by default; Oasis basked in the adulation.
And now it’s history repeating. Pulp stand at the margins, making new music, while Liam and Noel trade on past glories. The Gallaghers swagger, Cocker arches an eyebrow. Pulp embrace their middle age, Oasis lean into the nostalgia circuit. I remember the first time, and it’s now a gig poster, curled up at the edges in embarrassment that it’s still on the wall, faded but hanging around.
Hit The North 