Pulp-This Is Hardcore (Island)
Brit pop: You either love it or hate it. There is no middle ground, unless you're a teenage girl blinded by sheer idolatry for heartthrob Damon Albarn and both Gallagher boys [ah, such tragedy!].
But Jarvis Cocker is entirely too sassy, actually too eccentric for the star-struck, young girls; as a matter of fact, he is this way for all.
Cocker is constantly morphing-his image, his music, all that constitutes his being. However, Cocker isn't a vanguard who flows heedlessly with changing time; he is in fact beyond trend, as he is guided and marked by his innate sense of offbeat eccentricity rather than the fleeting, societal stamp of stylistic approval.
"I am not Jesus though I have the same initials," murmurs Jarvis in his cocky yet inviting voice.
With his unctuous look of a '70s soft-porn producer, Jarvis reveals This Is Hardcore, his latest production since Different Class, a dazzling album that catapulted Pulp from near-15 years of obscurity into superstar status (at least in Britain, anyway).
This Is Hardcore certainly isn't a misnomer, as Pulp recapitulates the elements that made and are distinctly Pulp: the glitzy pretention of '80s trash disco, the Bowie-esque glam rock and the conceptual idiosyncracies of arthouse pop.
...Hardcore is the late-'90s Decameron or even The Canterbury Tales, in that its verbose lyrics tell racy tales-about casual sexual encounters, things that plague urban life or any life, more meaningful relations, inner-sorrow, love forlorn, etc.. However, the only storyteller here is Jarvis Cocker-imbued with his trademark wit and droning, sexpot voice.
"You are hardcore, you make me hard/... It seems I saw you in some teenage wet dream./ I like your get-up if you know what I mean," comments the urbane bard in the title track .
The album, however, tapers the catchy "pop"ness that was so crucial in Different Class' popularity; although, "I'm a Man" and "The Day After the Revolution" bring back the zealous choruses that made "Disco 2000" and "Common People" from the 1996 release so likable.
The bachelor's-pad anthem, "Seductive Barry," is quite effective with its dreamy eroticism reminiscent of the earlier, strictly disco beat-driven album, Intro.
On the otherhand, "Glory Days" is almost duplicitous, as its languid lyrics seem very much like a ballad; but the snazzy streams of synthesizers engulf the lyrical melancholy with a sort of lighthearted frenzy.
Cocker's appearance seems to parallel his intentions for the album: At a glance, both may seem unappealing, yet more exposure allows one to see through the peculiarity to the hidden glamour that makes Pulp.
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