Where am I?

Check out This is Hardcore sound clips at
The Planet of Sound.

By Meredith Gordon

This Is Hardcore, Pulp's first release since their mindblowing Different Class in 1995, is lead-singer-songwriter-sex-symbol Jarvis Cocker's not-quite midlife crisis. At 34, the skinny Brit with the golden, breathy, crooning voice has been singing with some incarnation or another of the band currently known as Pulp for almost 20 years, and the hangover from two decades of empty sex, more than enough drugs, and a healthy dash of voyeurism can be a major bitch. Lost in the rift between youth and old age, Cocker wants to know what a rock 'n' roll boy is supposed to do when he turns into a man.

Pulp's answer is this: forget nothing, include everything, and make sure you don't leave out sex.

On Hardcore, Pulp refines the often vulgar art of sampling, taking flavors and feels rather than particular melodies and beats from the '70s and '80s glam rock they grew up on, and mixing in a hint of electronica here and there just for fun. Almost every song on the album gives you the distinct sense that yes, you have been here before, even if you haven't the foggiest when, why, or how. "Party Hard" drips with late '80s synthesizer and robo-voice choruses, and its glimmering eurotrash elecro-pop guitar riffs that make it sound like the original that U2 ripped off for their almost tolerable "Discotheque." Meanwhile, "The Fear" and "Dishes" have the feel of a late '70s leisure-suit laden pick-up bar, lounge lizard pianist and all.

Familiar though it may seem, Hardcore is nowhere near comfy. Following a trend in the Pulp take on love and sex, the title track gets you hot and makes you feel dirty. This time though, it's in a good way, always in a good way. When Cocker's sexier-than-thou voice, set off perfectly by the long low beat and brassy back-up instrumentals, asks "What exactly do you do for an encore?" you're ready to answer, "Anything you want." And you're not even scared.

What can be scary, however, is the disorienting effect of the album's jarring changes in tone from one track to another. Just when you think you're in 1979, swimming in a sea of polyester, the song ends, the setting changes, and a boy with white hair and an old-school keyboard-guitar is playing the same three notes over and over, late '80s style. Much like the pouty and confused Cocker, you find yourself wondering just where you are going, and remembering, all too well, where you have come from.

Jarvis may be growing up, but he'll never grow old.

This is hardcore, and it's damn good.

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