Pulp 'Loves Life,' and you should, too

The opening track, "Weeds," surprises with deliberate guitars and marching drums. Where are the keyboards, synthesizers, and flowing melodies I associate with "Joy Riders," "Common People," or "My Legendary Girlfriend?" That pop exuberance, somewhat abandoned on 1998's This is Hardcore, has been replaced by producer Scott Walker's rich orchestral and choral arrangements.

"The Night that Minnie Temperley Died" is a strong number, heavy on the acoustic guitar and teeming with soaring strings. It's also a typical Pulp storyline narrative. Only this time, instead of contemplating how to seduce yet another Chlöe Sevigny look-alike whom Cocker admires from afar (as if that would ever happen), he sings, "Minnie, if I could, I would give you the rest of my life." But she's oblivious to our lovely rock star's intentions. Stupid girl.

"Wickerman" is the album's centerpiece, an eight-minute elegiac interlude that draws on Cocker's youthful adventures in his hometown ("I went there again for old time's sake/Hoping to find the child's toy horse ride that played such a ridiculously tragic tune"). Mysterious and symphonic, it epitomizes Pulp's reflective new sound.

But it isn't all frolicking in the forest for Cocker and his crew. There are traces of the band's indulgent past as relationships and sex appear on the scene. "The Birds in Your Garden" features Cocker moaning: "Take her now. Don't be scared, it's all right. Oh, come on, touch her inside."

In "Bob Lind (the only way is down)" he complains, "Oh I guess this is where I fall apart/And I guess this is where the tear-drops start/But I don't care 'cos I just fell in love again." The stream of moderate-tempo ballads notwithstanding, Cocker's uncontrollable sensual energy seeps through. He may have turned his attention to the undergrowth, but we're still focused on his luscious licentiousness.

On this record, Jarvis is a little bit older, a little bit wiser, and maybe a little more introverted. His erotic crooning and tongue-in-cheek tendencies have given way to moderation. The overriding glamour and style may still be there, but some of the previous glitter has become more subtle and subdued.

It's as if, at the age of 38, Brit-Pop's reigning wit has finally learned to enjoy life's simple joys. So, gone are the most obviously lascivious parades of sex, love, and misfits that pervaded much of Pulp's earlier works, like Different Class—in their place are strange contemplations on nature, birds, rocks, trees, and weeds.

The change may be disappointing for Pulp fans who have always delighted in the band's cheeky trickery and mocking social commentary (not me, Jarvis. I'll always be here for you. Just call). But there's an energizing sincerity in their new millennial sound. The man who begged us to meet up in the year 2000 has seen that time come and go.

Cocker still saunters, but not with the same pornographic electricity that we all know and love. And he seems content to let the kids experiment with debauchery. As he sings in "I Love Life," "I love my life/It's the only reason I'm alive/It's mine, all mine/As long as I don't forget to breathe/Breathe in, breathe in, breathe out." (Universal)

—Meredith Levine

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