‘More' by Pulp Review: Satire and Sincerity

Wall Street Journal

2 days ago

In the 1990s, the U.K. was in thrall to Britpop, the retro-leaning movement that was a more melodic answer to the grunge that had taken hold in the U.S. Among the biggest bands of the scene, Oasis had anthems, Blur had taste and Pulp had style. That last, Sheffield-based band, led by singer Jarvis Cocker, was initially an outlier because its first two albums came out in the '80s and weren't representative of what came later. But by 1994's 'His 'n' Hers,' Pulp had mastered its own brand of multifaceted guitar pop, which mixed glam rock, disco and punk. Mr. Cocker, whose persona was a magnetic fusion of Bryan Ferry's louche sexiness and Elvis Costello's wit, became one of rock's great frontmen. And then, after Pulp's 2001 album 'We Love Life,' produced by avant-pop legend Scott Walker, the group went its separate ways.
The band's membership had always been fluid, though drummer Nick Banks and keyboardist Candida Doyle were there from nearly the beginning, and it was fair to assume after it split that Mr. Cocker would pick up where the band left off. But he had tired of Pulp's celebrity and pursued low-key solo projects. In what has become an increasingly common progression for once-disbanded groups, a series of reunion tours led to studio sessions and now, after 24 years, we have a new Pulp record. The stunningly strong 'More' (Rough Trade), out Friday, is a celebration of everything that made it great in the first place.
The opening 'Spike Island' is both heavy and slinky, marrying a quasi-disco beat to a palpitating bassline that's at once sensual and menacing. Mr. Cocker, a bundle of jittery energy, spits out his lines as if he's walking briskly on the street next to you and trying to finish his story before heading down into the tube. He's an exceptionally good lyricist with an uncanny ability to mix satire and sincerity, and here he jokes about the absurdity of making a life in music while nodding to his band's history and extended absence: 'Not a shaman or a showman / Ashamed I was selling the rights / I took a breather / And decided not to ruin my life.'
During his mellower solo years, Mr. Cocker has acquired some wisdom but has lost none of his mischievousness. Much of 'More' is about looking for love and breaking up, though nothing is ever simple. On the second track, 'Tina,' his narrator thinks he's found the perfect relationship, but he's never met his obsession and she doesn't know he exists: An outside observer would call him a deranged stalker. Mr. Cocker has an eye for telling images—here he imagines making love in a charity shop's storage room, 'The smell of digestive biscuits in the air.'