Latest news with #Blur
Irish Independent
3 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Pulp don't mess with winning formula with album that honours their past while not being enslaved by it
All are very much with us today, with a reformed Oasis set to play the most anticipated shows of the summer. Blur's The Ballad of Darren and subsequent tour showed they're far more than just a heritage act pushing nostalgia (a charge that can justly be levelled at Oasis.) And, now, 24 years on from what many thought was their swan song, Pulp have returned with an album that rolls back the years in scintillating fashion. Jarvis Cocker has released good solo material without ever reaching the highs that Pulp managed on a spectacular run of albums, from 1994's His 'N' Hers, 1995's Different Class to 1998's This is Hardcore. More, the Sheffield veterans' eighth studio album, may not quite be at that high-water mark, but it comes close enough. It's the sound of group honouring their own past while not being enslaved by it. It showcases many appealing Pulp hallmarks, including an unerring pop sensibility, artful and engaging arrangements, witty and knowing lyrics and a spirited delivery from Cocker. He's one of the few frontmen who can get away with spoken-worded deliveries, a ploy that works beautifully on the lush, tender Farmers Market. It should also be noted that anyone who was allergic to Pulp back in the day — and there were several — will find little here to convert them. For the rest of us, More is a delight from start to finish. And what a start: Spike Island is inspired by the legendary 1990 gig (in the north-west of England, and not the prison island off the Cork coast) headlined by the Stone Roses in their pomp. It's not the first Pulp song to be written in its honour: Sorted for E's & Wizz was inspired by the phrase that an acquaintance of Cocker's recalled from that Spike Island show. Ultimately, it's a song about Cocker's own need to perform. 'I was born to perform/ It's a calling/ I еxist to do this/ Shouting and pointing.' Relationships have been at the heart of many of Pulp's most enduring songs and so it is with Background Noise, a touching appraisal of what happens when love disappears. It may be a commentary on Cocker's divorce. He has subsequently remarried. The marvellous Tina — as quintessential a Pulp song as you can get — laments missed opportunities, especially that with the titular woman, an old flame from decades ago. On their last studio album, 2001's We Love Life, they called on the legendary Scott Walker as producer. This time, it's the turn of James Ford, one of the most in-demand studio alchemists of his generation, best known for his work with another big Sheffield export, Arctic Monkeys. Ford doesn't mess with Pulp's winning formula and the result is a comeback album that burnishes, rather than detracts from the band's legacy. It's dedicated to Pulp bassist Steve Mackey, who died in 2023 just as these new songs were starting to take shape.
Wall Street Journal
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Wall Street Journal
‘More' by Pulp Review: Satire and Sincerity
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.'
The Advertiser
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Advertiser
Pulp is back for More with first album in 24 years
Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old." Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old." Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old." Pulp has returned with a new album, their first in 24 years. Who could've predicted that? Not even the band, it turns out. The ambitious Britpop-and-then-some band emerged in the late-'70s in Sheffield, England, artistic outsiders with a penchant for the glam, grim, and in the case of Cocker, the gawky. Fame alluded them until the mid-'90s, and then it rushed in with Cool Britannia. Their songs varied wildly from their contemporaries, like the recently reunited Blur and soon-to-be back together Oasis. Instead, Pulp's David Bowie-informed synth-pop arrived with humour, ambiguity and intellect - songs about sex and class consciousness that manage to be groovy, glib, awkward and amorous all at once. Then, and in the decades since, Pulp has inspired devotion from loyal fans across generations. They've charmed those lucky enough to catch band members in their heyday before a kind of careerism led to a hiatus in 2002 - and those who saw them for the first time during reunion tours in 2011 and 2022. With all that reputation on the line, it's reassuring that the band has decided to give its audience More, due for release on Friday. There were a few catalysts for More. The first: "We could get along with each other still," jokes drummer Nick Banks. "It wasn't too painful." The second: The band worked a new song into their recent reunion show run - The Hymn of the North, originally written for Simon Stephens' 2019 play Light Falls - and people seemed to like it. The third and most significant: The band's bassist and core member Steve Mackey died in 2023. "It made me realise that you don't have endless amounts of time," Cocker says. "You've still got an opportunity to create things, if you want to. Are you going to give it a go?" And so, they did. Cocker assured his bandmates Banks, guitarist Mark Webber and keyboardist Candida Doyle that the recording process could be done quickly - in three weeks, lightspeed for a band that has infamously agonised over its latter records, like 1998's This Is Hardcore. The 11 tracks that make up More are a combination of new and old songs written across Pulp's career. The late Mackey has a writing credit on both the sultry, existential Grown Ups originally demoed around This Is Hardcore, and the edgy disco Got to Have Love, written around "the turn of the millennium," as Cocker explains. Maturation is a prevalent theme on More, delivered with age-appropriate insight. "I was always told at school that I had an immature attitude. I just didn't see any point in growing up, really. It seemed like all the fun was had by people when they were younger," said Cocker. "But, as I said on the back of the This Is Hardcore album, it's OK to grow up, as long as you don't grow old. And I still agree with that, I think. Growing old is losing interest in the world and deciding that you're not gonna change. You've done your bit and that's it. That doesn't interest me. "You have to retain an interest in the world and that keeps you alive," he adds. "So, you grow up. And hopefully you live better, and you treat other people better. But you don't grow old."
Scotsman
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Scotsman
Tribute band to upstage Oasis? Murrayfield showdown looms
Sign up to our daily newsletter – Regular news stories and round-ups from around Scotland direct to your inbox Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... It is no exaggeration to say that, on August 8, 9 and 12, three of the biggest gigs in Scottish history will take place at Murrayfield Stadium when Oasis's reunion tour comes to Edinburgh – the Gallagher brothers, Liam and Noel, back on stage as if Cool Britannia had never got overly heated. However, thanks to a stroke of genius by the decidedly cool Murrayfield Ice Rink, just next door, a 'rival' band will play there on those exact same days. No, don't worry, it's not Blur, but tribute band Definitely Oasis so it will all be very friendly. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The Gallagher brothers are bringing the sound of the '90s back to modern-day Murrayfield (Picture: James Fry) | Getty Images Singer Brian McGhee said the ice rink had got in touch shortly after the Oasis dates were announced. 'It's weird to think they'll be two minutes away, maybe they'll be able to hear us from their dressing rooms,' he said.
Business Mayor
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Business Mayor
Song 2 by Blur
Few tracks capture sheer, unfiltered exhilaration like Blur's 'Song 2'. At just over 2 minutes, it's a perfect storm of distortion, speed and chaos-a joyful explosion that barrels through the senses with reckless abandon. The beauty of track from Blur's 1997 eponymous fifth album lies in its sheer simplicity: jagged guitar riffs, pounding drums and frontman Damon Albarn's effortlessly cool, yet utterly unhinged vocals. There's no pretence here, just pure energy, as Albarn launches into the iconic 'Woo-hoo!' refrain, a cry that feels both euphoric and anarchic. The track doesn't meander. It hits like a runaway freight train, revelling in its messy, flannel-shirted aesthetic. Yet, beneath the noise, there's a sharpness, a knowing wink. Originally conceived as a parody of grunge, 'Song 2' ironically became one of Blur's biggest international hits, embraced for the very qualities it sought to exaggerate. It's fast, loud and exhilarating, but never hollow. It embodies raw power not just in volume, but in attitude. Almost 30 years on, 'Song 2' remains an untamed beast, a track that demands to be blasted at full volume. It's the sound of unfiltered joy, rebellion and people having the absolute time of their lives.
