Pulp, "Common People" (1995)

(listen)

Class warfare! Jarvis Cocker and mates, from across the Atlantic Ocean, craft a theme song for the eternal verities of the rich, but I'm not sure a good many people know about it even yet. I found out because a couple of my hipster pals were onto Pulp and Jarvis Cocker and Different Class. Otherwise I don't think it ever escaped far from the dance clubs of the UK until William Shatner came along and broke down the lyrics so starkly via the simple expedient of enunciating them clearly. So if I never exactly cottoned to the fine bent of the lyrics for many years, it wasn't like I noticed anything missing. This is a terrific song. I listened to the album on a daily basis for several weeks and have pulled it out since and it always sounds good, and so does this song, which is rousing and alive, throbbing and knowing, the kind of thing you might want to stand on a chair for and play loud. At six minutes it's got all the imposing presence of a dance song, and it's insinuating and physical in its attack, but it's also traditional verse-chorus-verse pop. Try it this way: Should we be surprised that Pitchfork a couple of years ago put it at #2 on their list of Top 200 Tracks of the '90s? Oh, right, and this: Cocker's reading of the lyrics is just fine, now that I know to hold off on all my flailing and kinetic pleasure and pay closer attention. His cartoon-dog Smedley way of sidling in with his croaking baritone may be almost soporific in the middle of all this gorgeous din, but once you know to follow along, why damn, hell, he's telling the story just as good as Captain Kirk too. It's caustic, biting, and very funny.

Separations (1992)

I like Separations a bit more than His 'n' Hers—maybe just because it loosens up and lets itself range wide in its second half, the foray into "acid jazz." (I use the scare quotes only to indicate my general ignorance here; I don't entirely understand the term beyond that it is a flavor of electronica.) In the first handful of songs I sometimes hear something like the Stranglers, which might just be Jarvis Cocker's croak amid the arch and studied arrangements. Other times I hear things that put me in mind of Camper Van Beethoven. That's probably just the scraping violin. I'm sure these perceptions could well mean that I must be insane. The songwriting is always adroit even if it doesn't particularly distinguish itself memorably. But that second half, the "acid jazz"—well, it's pretty fucking good, if I may express my appreciation by swearing. The song times stretch to well upwards of five and six minutes and the pace picks up considerably, even as the rubbery synthesizer figures quietly assemble behind Cocker, who shifts as seamlessly as ever between his croaks and his impassioned breathless exclamations verging on yelping and back again. In fact, I like how Cocker doesn't particularly change his approach at all—it's as eccentric and insinuating as ever, with the rear-screen projection playing behind him more the factor that has been altered. It's still recognizably Pulp, by and large, just with a few unusual adornments that throw it all into interesting relief. "My Legendary Girlfriend" seems to me to be the winner of the set, with an underpinning full of dynamics and dramatic flourishes (and, yes, those rubbery synthesizer figures again), which shifts and bursts into throbbing declarations at the chorus. Effective, in a word. "Death II" gives it a run for its money, with a bit more propulsive momentum, a few nice breaks, and a nifty line opening up the production in "down at the D-I-S-C-O." Plus this: "Hey I feel this night will never end / and I will never see the day." Play loud and dance. Try not to frighten the household pets.

His 'n' Hers (1994)

This is not the place to start with Pulp—that remains, always, Different Class. But if you like that album enough you're bound to find some pleasures here too. It certainly wears well day over day. As the album that came immediately before Different Class, you can hear them feeling their way to a signature sound that combines a certain amount of keyboard-inflected rock 'n' roll elegance and poise with Jarvis Cocker's willfully loutish by way of geeky vocal performances, often living most effectively in the lower registers, and his lyrical preoccupations, which run to flavors of resentment. A winning formula, in other words, particularly when it hits its stride here on the various singles, "Lipgloss" and "Babies" and "Razzmatazz." "Babies" positions Cocker's ruminating vocals over simple, evocative guitar lines until suddenly it somehow becomes very moving. "Razzmatazz" just powers forward, in a lovely dancefloor kind of way, and is the one song here that I think would have fit well on Different Class. As you can probably tell from the general tenor of my comments, the album as a whole suffers for me in comparison to what followed. Casting around for something more to say about it, I found an Amazon reviewer offering this advice in 1999: "Fans who were exposed to Pulp through Different Class might need a little time to let this album fully sink in (it takes about 4 or 5 listenings). But there is no excuse for owning Different Class and not this." So there's that point of view. (I also like this point that he raises: "All the Pulp albums come with the liner note 'NB. Please do not read the lyrics whilst listening to the recording,' a plea you'll inevitably break when you go rushing for the lyric book half way through the first song.") Me, I'm not sure that even the four or five listenings called for get His 'n' Hers entirely over the hump, except to put its best songs in sharper relief (and, as ever, I'm vaguely suspicious of such advice in the first place), but I pass along nonetheless just because I suspect he is more dedicated to the band than I may ever be. I see that there's something about Pulp that I want very badly to like, and to like a lot. So that's me trying.

Different Class (1996)

I read somewhere that fans of Neil Tennant and the Pet Shop Boys would be sure to appreciate Jarvis Cocker and Pulp. You didn't have to tell me any more than that. I signed on right away, though in the end I was as mystified by the comparison as by others I've heard with the Pet Shop Boys and Erasure. At least I like Pulp, and quite a lot. Especially this little bitter pill. Don't hesitate on account of the bitterness. That's strictly limited to the lyrics—the storyline of "Common People," for example: "And then in 30 seconds time she said / 'I want to live like common people / I want to do whatever common people do / I want to sleep with common people / I want to sleep with common people like you' / Well what else could I do? / I said 'I'll see what I can do' / I took her to a supermarket." (Bitterness of course never precludes humor, and we will be examining a cover version of this song soon enough, one that very nearly outdoes this, or does.) There's sugarcoating too: the music is all upbeat, almost chirpy, capable of pealing off lusty rounds of "la-la la-la la-la-la" without demeaning the general tone. Plus it features a bottom that can whomp you good, gorgeous guitar fills, and numerous turns to a dance throb that's never gonna let you down. Except for a little matter of looks, the better comparison here may be to Bryan Ferry by way of Martin Fry and back again, filtered through David Bowie sobbing. One look at Jarvis Cocker and you know he's all business. He has to be.