Which Pulp album are you? The voyeur? The disco king? The rubber lover? Or the, um, landscape gardener?
Whichever, chances are youâre unlikely to be an obscurist 80s indie weirdo since Pulp had arguably the strangest career path in modern pop. Most bands bang out one hype-gobbling debut album, another one pretty much the same but with more moaning about British Airways legroom on it, a third that tries to go dubstep on kazoos and then theyâre back on the bins by album 24. But very few piss about being a freaky Felt for 15 YEARS before discovering their inner synth-pop sex Peperami and making millions.
So all hail Pulp, popâs latest ever-developers. With the band’s latest reunion tour well underway, here’s our definitive ranking of every one of Pulp’s albums to date.
‘Freaks’ (1987)
âFreaksâ, as the title suggests, is a jarring, confrontational, terrifying oddity: corpses, mutant cats, eight-legged dogs and fish-eyed foetuses abound. Jarvis Cocker sings like heâs undead. âFairgroundâ resembles being trapped in a Satanic circus with a bunch of deformed, psychopathic Yorkshire Tindersticks. âBeing Followed Homeâ feels like being stalked by a deranged Lee Hazlewood. âMasters Of The Universeâ â the single, remember â sounds like it was recorded by a band of goth gypsies while bungee jumping. âAnorexic Beautyâ is like being mugged in an alleyway by The Kinks. Itâs an (intentionally) unlovable album, but even here, lurking between the skewed carnival curios, âLife Must Be Wonderfulâ, âThereâs No Emotionâ and âI Want Youâ points to tungsten-bright torch songs to come.
‘It’ (1983)
A floaty, flirty and occasionally flutey amalgam of Smiths jangle and whimsical psychedelic pop, âItâ is far more endearing and assured than it deserves to be. Jarvisâs voice is richer than his clunky warbles on âFreaksâ and for all the inadvisable echoes of Johnny Hates Jazz and Spandau Ballet it oozes a raw acoustic charm, invents The Magnetic Fields on âLooking For Lifeâ and is undoubtedly the most melodically consistent Pulp album of the 80s. I.e., it doesnât have Russell Senior snarling about two-headed cats all over it like something out of a Sheffield Psychoville.
‘Separations’ (1992)
A bit OMD, a bit PSB, a bit A Guy Called Gerald, âSeparationsâ was where Jarvis found his voice and Pulp their synthetic stimulus. A pioneering attempt to fuse indie and acid house that was recorded in 1989 but not released until 1992, it was sadly lapped by the zeitgeist in the meantime. The recording of âLove Is Blindâ might have pre-dated OMDâs âSailing On The Seven Seasâ in terms of pounding alt-pop, but otherwise Side One forged on into electro-indie realms already well-trodden by Electronic and its disco biscuit-enhanced second half, although largely “cracking”, had the misfortune of being released a year after âScreamadelicaâ. Nonetheless, the promise of âHisâNâHersâ blazed out through the Arab swing of âSheâs Deadâ, the Bad Seeds sedition of âDown By The Riverâ and the sordid spangle of âMy Legendary Girlfriendâ, while the rave-friendly âThis House Is Condemnedâ gave SâExpress something to get the hots for.
‘We Love Life’ (2001)
In which Jarvis and co. swapped the gimp mask and cat-oâ-nine-tails for the bedding trowel and border trimmer. Stripping naked and rolling around in the geraniums, Pulp (and producer Scott Walker) found a new joy in nature â in âThe Birds In Your Gardenâ, âThe Treesâ and even the humble âWeedsâ â that gave their seventh album a more uplifting air and filled Pulp classics like âThe Night That Minnie Timperley Diedâ and âBad Cover Versionâ with the elation of wide horizons and the panoramic wilds.
‘This Is Hardcore’ (1998)
Three years on from âDifferent Classâ and Jarvis was in the grip of drug flashbacks (âThe Fearâ), encroaching middle age (âHelp The Agedâ) and possessing an uncharacteristic cynicism towards pornography (the title track). Pulpâs pop sensibility was still sharp as a slasherâs scalpel but âThis Is Hardcoreâ was doused in disillusionment and desperation. Jarvis sounded broken and whispy and the porno horns, Bond strings, C&W tinges and bleak atmospherics created a downbeat, defeated vortex whose gravity the closing rush of âSylviaâ, âGlory Daysâ and âThe Day After The Revolutionâ struggled to escape. A melodic masterstroke, but so damn heavy.
‘His ‘N’ Hers’ (1994)
The belated coming of age, âHisâNâHersâ fizzed and crackled with the excitement of a band whose time has finally come. Though theyâd been around for 15 years, Pulp were relatively unknown beyond the C86 underground upon its release, so much of its seedy allure came from a band singing about lost virginity (âDo You Remember The First Time?â), peeping toms (âBabiesâ), fetishism (âPink Gloveâ) and murdered girls (âJoyridersâ). Today, though, knowing them as the charming botty-wagglers they are, we can appreciate it for the glitter cannon blast of kitchen sink romance, amateurish voyeurism and awkward sex in static-inducing fabrics that it is. And âHave You Seen Her Lately?â as un-arguably their great âlostâ classic.
‘Different Class’ (1995)
Different League, more like. A rare example of the virtually perfect modern pop record, âDifferent Classâ saw Pulp snatch Britpop from under the feuding noses of Blur and Oasis and run off laughing into The Future. If Geek Power anthem âMis-Shapesâ provided the bridge from Pulpâs previous outsider aesthetic, the record soon staged a march on the mainstream: âDisco 2000â and âCommon Peopleâ were pure aural MDMA, and âSorted For Eâs And Whizzâ became the ballad of a generation tweaking from raveâs comedown. But there was also an edgy danger to âI Spyâ and âF.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.â and a new peak of arching, aching emotional desolation to âUnderwearâ and âBar Italiaâ. A master ââŠClassâ.
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