Είχαμε reunion για τους Blur, για τους Suede, για τους Charlatans … μάλλον ήρθε η ώρα και για τους Pulp! Oh Yes! Το παρακάτω απόσπασμα είναι από το site της Guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk/) . Read it (μου αρέσει όπως τα γράφει ο τύπος)
Last year, like many people who were 15 in 1995, I went to see one of Blur’s reunion dates at Hyde Park in London. So did Jarvis Cocker, who stood behind me for the entirety of their set with a look on his face that can only be described as quizzical. At the time I wondered if his trousers were too tight, or if he was just confused over why Damon Albarn and co had chosen to play Trimm Trabb. Now I think he was probably just trying to decide whether he fancied a piece of the pie too.
Cocker had previously told Teletext – which was a very Jarvis thing to do – that Pulp had “no plans to get together”, so I was delighted to find out this morning he decided otherwise and that his group will re-form for gigs next year, including Barcelona’s Primavera Sound and London’s Wireless. I write this while many fans are tweeting things such as “Omg! Pulp!”, all of which feels like vindication
for a band who, even when they headlined Glastonbury in 1995, always felt out of step with the world – they only got the big gig because John Squire couldn’t ride a bicycle properly.
But then Pulp being out of step was always part of the band’s appeal. There were few more important groups to me when I was growing up, and, I imagine, to those like me – people who were rubbish at sport, who gravitated towards cigarettes, clothes and music, and who developed infatuations with NME and charity shops. Their songs were snappy, their lyrics were smart, and they were performed by genuine outsiders too (photos of a knock-kneed Cocker playing celebrity five-a-side in Select magazine proved that). With the possible exception of a few years at the start of Belle & Sebastian’s career, Pulp were perhaps the last time British guitar music has managed to be world-beating, while at the same time sounding like it couldn’t have come from anywhere else.
Much of this was to do with the stories Pulp told. Growing up in my native Doncaster meant it was only £2 on the bus to Sheffield Sex City, where you could see the window ledge where Cocker fell off trying to impress a girl, or catch a glimpse of keyboard player Candida Doyle drinking cider in The Leadmill. The bedsits and charity shops that their songs depicted spoke volumes to a South Yorkshire teenager who found little on television, let alone on the radio, that said anything about his life. In a Britpop scene that was ultimately macho, Pulp stood up for the working class, the intelligent and the weirdo. I’d like to thank them for making my youth bearable in the same way I’d also like to thank Mark & Lard and Flumps.
Does it matter that the rush of goodwill towards the band this morning means Pulp aren’t outsiders any more? After all, wasn’t this the band who asked us to pick a side in their Mis-Shapes video? Whose biggest hit, Common People, was as much a freak call-to-arms as it was the best song of the 90s? I’d like to think that it meant that we won, that it’s OK to be strange, to be different and to stand out for the crowd. There hasn’t been a band since who have embodied that with the same success as Pulp, but perhaps their legacy is more than just a handful of great records; whenever I visit Doncaster now I am jealous that young men in NHS glasses rarely have to run for their life from men in white shirts and fuzzy moustaches like I once did.
Next year I hope to watch Pulp headline Hyde Park. The only thing that could make me happier is if the members of Kenickie were to be stood behind me – looking quizzical of course.