Ever-destined to third position behind the Britpop main event of Blur vs. Oasis, Pulp's reunion has taken place with relatively little fanfare. Despite this — and not being skronky or arty enough to compete with Radiohead for hipster cred either— for a brief time in 1995, Different Class runaway hit "Common People" was everywhere, introducing the suavely loquacious Jarvis Cocker to North America a notable 13 years after the band's debut.
It's fair to say 1998's follow-up, the sprawling This Is Hardcore, didn't exactly capitalize on this mid (late?)-career success (remember "Help the Aged"?), and their final album, 2001's under-heard and underrated We Love Life, barely made an impact.
Thus did Pulp live out their 15 minutes, remaining staunch in the disc-carousels of discerning millennials afterwards, but largely exiting the zeitgeist for most — although Cocker would eventually become familiar to Gen Z as Myron Wagtail, lead singer of "wizard band" the Weird Sisters in the Harry Potter universe. A new Pulp album certainly isn't the first thing many of us would have searched for in the cauldron, but here we are. Has their toil been worth the trouble?
After a quarter-century, nothing less than a palpable sigh of relief can accompany the resounding "Yes!" that answers this question. Free of ill-advised stabs at contemporary trends (the siren call of UK garage must have been audible), bereft of current-flavour guest stars zhuzhing up the tracklist, and sidestepping the possibility of Jarvis Cocker on Auto-Tune (although honestly, why not?), More is, as the title suggests, simply the band picking up where they left off, albeit informed by 24 years of intervening life.
On no one is this more apparent than Cocker himself. Already exuding an arch knowingness three decades ago, he's arrived at philosopher status now. While sounding just a tad strained in higher registers, he's still nailing the conspiratorial three-drinks-in conversational style that made him so inimitable, mentioning casually in "Slow Jam" that he's "had a word a with Jesus," like he just talked to his mate outside the pub. Unintended charm ensues elsewhere, when he sings romantically about "exchanging emails."
And as usual, there's at least one narrative track with lengthy spoken-word passages — the true Cocker experience. It's hard to call yourself a Pulp fan if you don't have your own conflicted feelings about these, but the examples this time around are all trim, well-edited affairs, and standout example "Farmers Market" could very well be the best thing they've ever done.
Opening with melancholy piano from Candida Doyle that evokes innumerable backward glances, it's not long before Cocker is musing with quiet conviction over swelling strings about living and loving later in one's life, to moving effect. You can really feel the years here; it's exactly the kind of mature, bittersweet work you would hope for from the band in 2025, and it's a treat to get it.
Indeed, it's hard to understate what a pleasure it is to have a new Pulp album at all — and the fact that it's a worthy continuation of the unfulfilled upswing they were on when they called it quits feels like an undeserved bonus. More is unlikely to win Pulp many new fans, but that would be presumptuous to really want (and undignified to aim for) when you can otherwise hit the mark so authentically.