Pulp - ‘More’
Photo by Daniel Cohen/Lumen Photo
After twenty-four years in the wilderness, Pulp have returned with the cinematically grand More.
Firstly, before I dive into this LP, I need to start with the elephant in the room that I don’t see anyone else talking about: this album has been de-essed so aggressively that Jarvis often sounds like he has a set of loose-fitting false teeth. In short, we have the Sheffield Sean Connery singing across every single track of this album. If his vocal had been mixed a little more delicately, I probably would have picked up a copy of this on CD for the car.
Since I am on the negatives, I will stick in that groove for now. A large part of More is definitely middle of the road, with many songs clocking in around five minutes. I am not one of these must be shorter and snappier people but, in this case, I think a more concise approach may have helped. We rarely see that Britpop vigour which is hinted at in the album’s opener.
Maybe this is no surprise considering the later output of ‘solo Jarvis.’ Take “Chansons d’Ennui Tip-Top,” for example, which stuck faithfully to the original arrangements of the twelve covers that comprised it. The death of bassist Steve Mackey may have contributed… or maybe it is just the mellowing that comes with old age. If that’s the case, it may also explain a lack of witty, mischievous bite in the lyrics.
However, there are some real highlights to More. This is unquestionably a mature record with lush string arrangements and beautifully considered writing. You can tell Jarvis is channelling his inner Scott Walker, who produced their 2001 album “We Love Life.” The lyrics and arrangements are incredibly thoughtful.
We are also given “Spike Island” and “Got to Have Love” which hold up with anything Pulp have released before. More adds meaningfully to the legacy of this band whilst never feeling like a lazy succumbing to past formulas.
This album is not for those looking for Britpop nostalgia and that is exactly why it is worth a listen… If you are craving Britpop nostalgia you are better off getting drenched in piss at an Oasis gig.