Pulp
His 'n' Hers

THE REVIEW

"Babies" by Pulp is the voyeuristic anthem par excellence. It is, at least in the opinion of yours truly. There may be others, perhaps. There certainly are. One is "I Spy" by the same Pulp. But as far as I'm concerned, this Song outsmarts them all from the start. Even those that currently elude me, and that would certainly be of little use to strain to retrieve: there's no contest. And perhaps, there never will be.

Because it is a manifesto of adolescent morbidity like few others. A snapshot of life seen through the keyhole, or - specifically - through a tiny opening contrived inside a bedroom. The incomparable thrill of being able to see without being seen. The shiver of potentially being discovered. The insatiable desire that leads you to take the risk ANYWAY. And this Song lays bare the VOYEUR that resides in many of us. With unpredictable outcomes.

Stanhope Road really exists, in Sheffield, and that's where the friend who was the object of the young and clumsy Jarvis Cocker's attention lived. But (problem) the friend doesn't reciprocate, not in that sense. And so (solution, albeit temporary) one settles for eavesdropping discreetly on her sister's door, two years older, who usually hangs out with boys after school. Hmm. Not bad.

But it's not enough.

At a certain point, Jarvis-Boy realizes that it's not worth settling for crumbs when you can have much more, and that above all (an objective observation, universal law) SEEING is still better than just LISTENING. And so (solution, this time definitive)... why not take advantage of that wardrobe in the room and settle inside, where there's a crack through which the view is good...? Better than a match watched from the central stand. And we can imagine him in there, quietly enjoying the whole show. There's not even a need to cling to the imagination anymore. It's all within eye's reach. It's there.

But the fun is over. He's discovered. And the story ends, but not in the way one might imagine. Plot twist. However, this is only revealed at the end of the piece. And basically, I'm supposed to be writing a "review" of a RECORD...

...because, what can you do, it's easy to get carried away when talking about Pulp, the grand "muddle" (sonic but not only) from that clever Jarvis Cocker, adept at riding the Brit Pop wave of the mid '90s without ever fully being part of it. What did he ever have to do with THOSE TWO from Manchester with the John Lennon-style glasses, and with other performers (mostly modest, except for precious exceptions) of a fleeting phenomenon - which he himself would declare dead, with that Masterpiece that is "This Is Hardcore"...? Little. The Gallaghers were nobodies when in Sheffield our band was cutting its teeth in the early '80s (the same Sheffield of the Human League, imagine), and success was still far away. When they rose to fame, he was discovered to be a grown-up kid, with his obsessive-compulsive tendencies and a marked propensity to obsess (but according to him, they were always temporary obsessions...) over members of the opposite Sex.

And "His'n'Hers", much more than a simple collection of (beautiful) Pop songs, is a box that you must be very careful to open - at the risk of having a mountain of melancholy, repressed frustration, faded memories from years ago crumble on you. And if by chance you're among those who never listened to Pulp, it will only take a few minutes to understand why the essence of their formula is primarily in Candida Doyle's keyboards: atmospheres often as surreal as the embarrassing stories told, blurred and fogged like eyes after a sudden awakening. A hybrid of Rock and anomalous Disco-Wave beyond its time, yet capable of transforming these '80s leftovers into the most noble and unpredictable intruders of the high "nineties" charts...

...and then you'll jump in the car and take off in fourth gear to the notes of "Joyriders", feverishly awaiting Saturday night to engage in a makeshift "hunt" without success, but you'll soon be deflated in front of that portrait of "wasted" femininity that is "Lipgloss" - shovelfuls of sadness and, indeed, only "lip gloss and cigarettes" on that desperate and sobbing refrain, and that "synthetic" and irresistible final guitar. You'll sink into long "acrylic" afternoons and with "Have You Seen Her Lately?" you'll enter, disoriented, a sound bubble of livid distorted images. Good times (?) and various gropings will be remembered in "She's A Lady", but needless to say that those ended badly as well... all too sensitive keys will be touched in "Do You Remember The First Time?" - but no, let's not talk about it, let's leave it and change the subject... and among others, a slender and rarefied "Someone Like The Moon" will NEVER be able to lift a morale already collapsed to the ground without hope.

It's the album of "could have been but it wasn't", of "there's that girl I like, but she doesn't know it", of "I'd take you home, you'd be my girl forever and I'd have many kids with you", but the thing is unfeasible even before being able to think about it, let alone do it. The album of an eternal teenager who builds feature films in his head and tries to rewrite them with a different ending than what reality would put before him. Because in the movie, he's the one who decides, he's the director. And for once, the actresses would follow the hoped-for script.

And if you want, remember that marvel of "Happy Endings", in which Jarvis dons the tuxedo of the most improbable and pathetic crooner of all time, and almost in a whisper invents a: "Imagine it's all a film and that you are the protagonist, and soon we reach the point where you'll have to give your heart... well, at that moment... give it to me."

(...)

It would all be easier...

There would be a happy ending.