More about: Pulp

Good evening. This is a list you will remember for the rest of your life. You are about to see a ranking of all 146 officially released songs from the Pulp discography.

For those of you unfamiliar, Pulp are a band possibly unlike any other. Pulp are currently Jarvis Cocker, Candida Doyle, Nick Banks and Mark Webber, with Russell Senior and the late Steve Mackey also part of their classic lineup. Pulp are simultaneously Britpop pioneers, yet so distinguished from the scenes and paraphernalia that festered around the word. Pulp are a band who find the Odysseys in the mundane, the epic poetry in the kitchen sink. Pulp are NHS specs. Pulp carry style, wit and a seemingly endless barrel of horniness. Pulp are real. Pulp are hardcore. And more importantly, after decades of waiting, longing and yearning from fans who missed them the first time around, Pulp are back. The news of their reunion was something of a feverish moment of excitement for myself and countless other mis-shapes, mistakes and misfits. It was the My Chemical Romance reunion for the kids who bought all their clothes from charity shops.

First up, I have to set the ground rules. Number one: no covers. Original material only. Jarvis’s lyrics are the only ones we need round here anyway. Number two: only officially released material. I had the archives of Pulp Wiki to thank for the help in distinguishing what was official and what wasn’t, which sadly means that cuts such as their newest offering ‘Hymn of the North’ didn’t make the list. Number three: there will be some controversial choices, some hot takes and some fresh interpretations. Some of which may differ from yours. That’s fine. Don’t fight them. Embrace them. Make some noise, if you must.

I said MAKE SOME NOISE. I hear you. This is what I do for a ranking.

146. ‘Coy Mistress’ (1984)

Released on two incredibly obscure Various Artists compilations in the early 80s, this is a song that has been lost to history and, deservedly so. Comprised of nothing but a blaring church organ, paired with Russell Senior reading the titular Andrew Marvell poem, it barely constitutes as a song and pushes the rule of original material to its very limit. COB.

145. ‘Back in LA’ (recorded in 1984, B-side to ‘My Legendary Girlfriend’ single in 1992)

Despite this having been recorded and officially released, I could not find a studio version of ‘Back In LA’ at all, basing all of my thoughts on the song from a YouTube recording of the band playing it in (where else) LA in 2012. It wasn’t really worth the search, to be honest. It’s a generic rock ‘n’ roll number with generic lyrics that doesn’t really need to be heard by anyone ever.

144. ‘Anorexic Beauty’ (Freaks, 1987)

Seems to be trying too hard to be shocking, but falls into the annoying fairly quickly.

143. ‘Please Don’t Worry’ (It: Deluxe Edition, 2012)

A rabidly jaunty keyboard hook gives the effect of being stuck on a carousel that you can’t escape from, with every turn making you progressively sicker.

142. ‘Goodnight’ (Dogs Are Everywhere, 1986)

Despite one of the first appearances of that iconic Jarvis ASMR narration, this is a dull lullaby (dullaby?) that barely leaves any impact.

141. ‘Everybody’s Problem’ (standalone single, 1983)

Bouncy, sunny, twee, but not Pulp. Please look me in the eyes and tell me that Pulp didn’t basically invent Belle & Sebastian here.

140. ‘Boats and Horses’ (It, 1983)

A fairly short and disposable interlude from the first album.

139. ‘My Body May Die’ (Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased) original soundtrack, 1999)

A collaboration with The Swingle Sisters, this is a helping from the soundtrack to Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased). Well, the 1990s revival of it starring Vic & Bob as the leads. The song isn’t remarkable. It feels like they were told “write something spooky” and made a quick paycheck out of it.

138. ‘Silence’ (B-side to ‘Master of the Universe’, 1987)

When Britpop began to dominate the zeitgeist, and Pulp were hitting their commercial peak, a prompt reissue of their spikier, more obtuse early material was rolled out, including a compilation of singles and B-sides. Everything except ‘Silence’ was considered, because in Jarvis’s own words, “it's terrible - I couldn't live with it being out”. Whilst I don’t consider it *that* bad, he’s not exactly wrong.

137. ‘We Are the Boyz’ (B-side to ‘Party Hard’, 1998)

A glam rock pastiche prominently featured on the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack. Leans too far into parody to truly be enjoyable in its own right.

136. ‘Can I Have My Balls Back, Please?’ (This Is Hardcore: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

“Some people buy a Mellotron and write OK Computer, we bought one and wrote this” so says Jarvis in the accompanying notes to this, a demo left on the cutting room floor during the This Is Hardcore sessions, inflicted upon us on the deluxe version in 2006. At his best, Jarvis is one of the most adeptly humorous writers of his generation. At his worst, well…this song. Revolves around a mildly amusing hook that grates upon further listens.

135. ‘Maureen’ (1984)

You can see a spark of the suburban sexual tension that defines a lot of Pulp’s artistic ethos here in this rare demo, but you really have to squint.

134. ‘Don’t You Know’ (Freaks, 1987)

A mostly mild little number with a cheeky piano hook and some neat slide guitar, but very forgettable.

133. ‘In Many Ways’ (It, 1983)

In which Jarvis Cocker invents The Smiths.

132. ‘My Erection’ (This Is Hardcore: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

Much like ‘Can I Have My Balls Back, Please?’, this is a song defined by smutty humour for smutty humour’s sake, but at least we have the gimmick of a vocoder here to make it vaguely interesting.

131. ‘P.T.A. (Parent Teacher Association)’ (B-side to ‘Mis-Shapes’/’Sorted for E’s and Wizz’, 1995)

I was having a great time with this song until Jarvis started singing. Umm. These lyrics… they’re umm, they’re quite noncey, aren’t they? “When your mother came to say that you'd been taking days off school, I turned and looked at you, I said, "Yes, I understand, I'm going to take this girl in hand". Ewwww. I suppose it’s the point, but still ewwwww. It’s framed in this very cutesy manner, with a spoken word interlude from Jarvis and Candida in the middle that would have been quite funny in any other song. Probably best if this one remains forgotten.

130. ‘Nights of Suburbia’ (See You Later, Agitator! (various artists compilation), 1987)

Only a scrappy, lo-fi, live recording of this track exists, released on a compilation in 1987. There’s something here, in the discordant fuzz and the anti-melody from Jarvis, but there’s not much sustenance.

129. ‘Born to Cry’ (Notting Hill soundtrack, 1999)

This is quite possibly the first controversial pick of the list, so apologies to any ardent ‘Born to Cry’ fans here, but my god, does this thing drag. A mawkish, saccharine ballad without any flair or personality.

128. ‘Joking Aside’ (It, 1983)

A clunky, but sweet waltz. Big fan of the violin.

127. ‘What Do You Say?’ (Your Secret's Safe With Us (various artists compilation), 1982)

The very first Pulp song to be released. There’s definitely an earnest, youthful charm to be found here, in the Joy Division bassline and yelping melody. Reminds you of that first band you had when you were young; the songs weren’t very good, but shucks, your hearts were in it.

126. ‘The Will to Power’ (Little Girl (With Blue Eyes) and Other Pieces, 1985)

Another one that seems to owe a lot to Joy Division; you can hear them in the prowling, predatory buildup, the barking baritone of Russell Senior, and the dark lyrical themes, that at the time were quite controversial in their apparent Nazi connotations, something that Senior vehemently denied.

125. ‘Blue Glow’ (Little Girl (With Blue Eyes) and Other Pieces, 1985)

The dramatic orchestral flourishes on this one really carry the song, as well as Peter Mansell’s bass, otherwise there would be really nothing to say about ‘Blue Glow’.

124. ‘Death Comes To Town’ (Separations: Deluxe Edition, 2012)

Jarvis and the gang find the “disco” button on the Yamaha keyboard and go nuts. It’s a predictable number, but pleasant nonetheless.

123. ‘Don’t Lose It’ (Different Class: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

Perhaps the most average distillation of what Pulp sound like.

122. ‘Street Lites’ (B-side to ‘Do You Remember The First Time?’, 1994)

A fairly standard piece of Jarvis ASMR that has been done better and will be done better.

121. ‘There Was…’ (B-side to ‘Everybody’s Problem’, 1983)

A sweet, gentle little ballad from the early years. Doesn’t outstay its welcome.

120. ‘Your Sister’s Clothes’ (The Sisters EP, 1994)

Fun fact: this is a sequel to ‘Babies’! Featuring the character of the sisters four years on from the original song, this sees the younger sister getting “her revenge for earlier years”. It’s a shame that the story is more interesting than the song itself, but hey ho.

119. ‘Watching Nicky’ (His N Hers: Deluxe Edition, 2006)Q

A tale of suburban boredom that feels more like the band warming up for their future glories than anything else of note.

118. ‘Turkey Mambo Momma’ (The Complete Peel Sessions, 2006)

Yes Jarvis, I too have heard of DEVO. Quite catchy though.

117. ‘Down By the River’ (Separations, 1992)

This feels like a Nick Cave song if you channeled it through a Casio synthesiser. It carries drama, heartbreak and a wordless chorus lifted from folklore. We’re getting somewhere.

116. ‘Looking for Life’ (B-side to ‘My Lighthouse’, 1983)

This early cut carries an almost spiritual sense of self. Some fantastic harmonies on the choruses. Goes a bit too long, but you know what, I don’t mind it.

115. ‘It’s a Dirty World’ (This Is Hardcore: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

Very on the nose, but fits with the overall burnt-out-afterparty vibe of This Is Hardcore, so I guess in the alternative universe where it made the album, it would be a welcome addition? It would be the worst track on the album, granted, but still.

114. ‘Love Love’ (It, 1983)

“I love love” sings spritely young chap Jarvis Cocker, in a trumpet led ditty that carries much of Paul McCartney with it. In other hands, this would be intensely annoying, but I feel a lot of sincerity arise from it.

113. ‘You Are the One’ (This Is Hardcore: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

Me: Mum, can we listen to ‘Something Changed’?

Mum: We already have ‘Something Changed’ at home.

‘Something Changed’ At Home: *is ‘You Are the One’* 

112. ‘Laughing Boy’ (B-side to ‘Help the Aged’, 1997)

The guitars are very Hawaiian, very SpongeBob soundtrack. A bittersweet little song that you can imagine playing at 4am, walking home after a disastrous night out in the rain wondering where your life went wrong. 

111. ‘Refuse To Be Blind’ (The Complete Peel Sessions, 2006)

Another fun fact: this is a reworking of a very early instrumental piece Pulp performed at their first ever school gigs called ‘Message to the Martians’. Again, the moody, post-punk influence is present, but there is a sense of direction to be found here.

110. ‘We Can Dance Again’ (Different Class: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

There are certain couplets that lyricists fall upon that I label as Forbidden Rhymes. Whenever I hear, say, “fire” rhymed with “desire”, then I think lesser of the song, no matter how brilliant it may be. Likewise, whenever a singer says that they have to “dance”, you know full well that the next words on the tip of their tongue are “take a chance”. It’s disappointing to see Jarvis stoop so low, but it’s a decent song, so he is partially forgiven.

109. ‘Master of the Universe’ (Freaks, 1987)

I’m really not sure what they’re going for on ‘Master of the Universe’. It feels distinctly villainous, but cartoonishly so. Maybe that was the intention, having been named after the He-Man franchise, but it just leaves me a little bit bereft of joy or meaning.

108. ‘Wishful Thinking’ (It, 1982)

Sweet. That’s about it.

107. ‘You’re A Nightmare’ (B-side to ‘Lipgloss’, 1993)

Arms swaying, lighters aloft to this ballad of romantic disarray. It is in the greatest key, F major, which gives it an array of bonus points.

106. ‘Stacks’ (B-side to ‘Razzmatazz’, 1993)

The first part of the Inside Susan trilogy, charting the story of a character from adolescence to adulthood. ‘Stacks’ traces Susan’s “Rotherham puberty”, and the song itself is chirpy, energetic and lots of fun, encapsulating that period when there was always “stacks to do and stacks to see”.

105. ‘Paula’ (Different Class: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

A lyric which comes awfully close to negging. Our narrator is annoyed that he is entangled with a girl who “can look so bad but be so good in bed”. If the melody wasn’t as annoyingly infectious, it would probably be lower. But you can’t argue with a melody, believe me, I’ve tried.

104. ‘Manon’ (B-side to ‘Master of the Universe’, 1987)

In which Pulp invent a new genre: gothic chanson. A partially French mood piece that really lingers around with you.

103. ‘Grandfather’s Nursery’ (standalone download, 2002)

Suffers from taut and unfinished production, setting it miles apart from the lush, Scott Walker sonics of We Love Life, but I would love to see a finished version of this, because the bare bones are solid.

102. ‘The Never-Ending Story’ (Freaks, 1987)

I live for the drama of this song; a makeshift cacophony of an orchestra gone horribly wrong. It suits the paranoia and horror of Freaks perfectly.

101. ‘Tunnel’ (B-side to ‘They Suffocate at Night’, 1987)

An eight minute post-punk orgy that feels like it lay the groundwork for bands like Squid and Black Country, New Road to run with.

100. ‘Sink or Swim’ (It: Deluxe Edition, 2012)

A laid-back number that seems to be dedicated to all of us racked with indecision. Jarvis encourages us to take that leap, despite how you “may be frightened” because “would anyone not be?”. A highlight of the It sessions that really should have been on the album.

99. ‘Duck Diving’ (The Complete Peel Sessions, 2006)

Keeping in line with the We Love Life era, this is a pastoral ballad set to Jarvis narrating a short story from a 1970s English textbook, evoking a sense of autumnal nostalgia. I do wish there was a proper studio version, however it might lose that sense of raw spontaneity if so.

98. ‘Blue Girls’ (It, 1983)

This feels like a faithful pastiche of those classic ballads that will have been put on countless easy listening compilations in the 1960s, covered by faceless singers in lieu of copyright struggles. I really like it, particularly the lovely flute and the characteristic backing vocals (fun fact: one of the backing singers being Saskia Cocker, Jarvis’s sister!)

97. ‘Seconds’ (The Sisters EP, 1994)

A Sparks-esque instrumental backs a tale of those who hide behind a facade of perfection and gloss. “Your golden boy fell down” Jarvis hisses, “don’t you know he hasn’t got a personality”.

96. ‘Forever In My Dreams’ (B-side to ‘Bad Cover Version’, 2002)

I am fascinated by how an entire song can be created from the simplest of samples. It’s a trick Pulp use a lot in their We Love Life era, but this B-side, fashioned from a 3 second loop pulled from an old children’s LP, remains bizarrely esoteric to me.

95. ‘Ladies Man’ (B-side to ‘This Is Hardcore’, 1998)

That late 90s vocoder is back, baybee! This song feels like if Kraftwerk were tasked with making a loungey, sexy jam. Somehow they pull it off.

94. ‘Someone Like the Moon’ (His N Hers, 1994)

Look, one of them had to pull the short straw. Perhaps the least remarkable main album track of Pulp’s “golden years”, ‘Someone Like the Moon’ drags His N Hers to a screeching halt nearly altogether. It works as a penultimate track, granted, and it contains quite a bit of atmosphere, but it's possibly the only track on their most acclaimed albums that is a guaranteed skip.

93. ‘This House is Condemned’ (Separations, 1992)

An instrumental techno jam with a distanced, breathy Russell Senior narration. Has a nice groove that rarely justifies its length, but is nevertheless a lot of fun.

92. ‘Aborigine’ (Dogs Are Everywhere, 1986)

The Dogs Are Everywhere EP felt like a precursor to Freaks, with pessimistic tales of madness written from the Sheffield warehouse Jarvis was living in at the time. ‘Aborigine’, named in part after the didgeridoo-like noise that opens the track, is one of the finest examples, a harsh monotone melody narrating domestic angst and inner turmoil.

91. ‘You’re Not Blind’ (His N Hers: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

This has a strong melodic centre that is superfluously married to that gorgeous Blondie guitar line. A promising demo from the His N Hers sessions that perhaps shouldn’t have been confined to the bins of history.

90. ‘Yesterday’ (B-side to ‘Bad Cover Version’, 2002)

No, not a Beatles cover, but a lovely little We Love Life B-side about triumphing over personal anguish. “Yesterday is gone, so yesterday can’t hurt you” sings Jarvis, a plateau that may feel like a quote you’d find on a motivational Tumblr poster, but somehow feels very right given the mood of the song.

89. ‘Frightened’ (His N Hers: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

An early version of ‘His N Hers’ that features an exhaustingly speedy keyboard riff from Candida.

88. ‘The Babysitter’ (B-side to Do You Remember the First Time?, 1994)

As an instrumental collective, this is perhaps one of the finest examples of Pulp as an ensemble. Nick and Steve are a beautifully tight rhythm section, Candida’s keys are sweeping up and down, and the guitars are jagged and spiky. If only the rest of the song, the secret fourth installment of the Inside Susan trilogy, could live up.

87. ‘Sickly Grin’ (recorded in 1982, B-side to ‘My Legendary Girlfriend’, 1992)

Hot take: Pulp are a fantastic band. But unbeknownst to the folks only aware of them from their Britpop heyday, it turns out they always were. A lost classic from the early 80s, ‘Sickly Grin’ features that classic staple of 80s indie that pairs a chirpy and buoyant instrumental with a frank and remarkably open lyric. “Sometimes I sigh or I cry” croons the young Jarvis, “some prefer to show their sickly grin”, demonstrating that outsider mentality that would soar in later works such as ‘Mis-Shapes’.

86. ‘Don’t You Want Me Anymore?’ (Separations, 1992)

A salacious tango oozing with bitterness and jealousy.

85. ‘Simultaneous’ (Little Girl (With Blue Eyes) and Other Pieces, 1985)

A haunting slow burner featuring a jumpscare that, for want of a better phrase, shit me up when I first heard it.

84. ‘Styloroc (Nites of Suburbia)’ (B-side to ‘Babies’, 1992)

The better Pulp song to carry the name “nights of suburbia” (or variations thereupon). A prime example of how Jarvis Cocker can make “mauve PVC sofas” sound like the centre of the universe. It is also, quite frankly, a hot banger.

83. ‘There’s No Emotion’ (Freaks, 1987)

A quietly emotive breakup song, with a lovely backing vocal that makes the narrative hurt that little bit more.

82. ‘97 Lovers’ (Dogs Are Everywhere, 1986)

Perhaps the platonic example of an early Pulp song; Casio keys are backed by stomping drums as Jarvis sets out his voyeuristic manifesto for the world to see. What sets him apart from other lyricists are those little details he throws in, such as the “picture of Roger Moore” that a couple “make love beneath”, and the fact that he’s always been doing that just makes Pulp that much more magic.

81. ‘Dogs Are Everywhere’ (Dogs Are Everywhere, 1986)

This is an understated gem, with an insanely catchy hook. Also, as a cat person, I love to see a rare anti-dog song in the media; we need more dog skepticism, people!

80. ‘59 Lyndhurst Grove’ (B-side to ‘Razzmatazz’, 1993)

As a South East Londoner, sometimes I pass the real 59 Lyndhurst Grove in Peckham, and I’m like “hey, that’s a Pulp song! (insert Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme here)”. The finale to the Inside Susan trilogy brings the story to a close with bittersweet domestic resignation, awful parties, extramarital affairs and all. A track this calm could have maybe done wonders on His N Hers, so it’s a shame this only stayed a B-side.

79. ‘Separations’ (Separations, 1992)

A song containing multitudes; a lone violin cuts to a theatrical Scott Walker crescendo, and culminates in a disco strut. Mad.

78. ‘I Want You’ (Freaks, 1987)

Perhaps one of the most relaxed moments on the frenetic Freaks, in everything but the lyrics. In an otherwise loungey number, Jarvis takes on the role of somebody entirely co-dependent on their lover, with phrases such as “I’ll break you because I lose myself inside you” enough to raise red flags in anyone. The dichotomy is the point though, and it’s what makes ‘I Want You’ such an early career highlight.

77. ‘She’s Dead’ (Separations, 1992)

Despite the fact that this is ostensibly a warmup for ‘Happy Endings’, I can’t help but be enraptured by the melody and tone of this song.

76. ‘They Suffocate at Night’ (Freaks, 1987)

The epic closer of Freaks, given the gargantuan task of summing up the album, and it does it very well. The narrative is claustrophobic, the violins are discordant, the vibes are spooky. Tick.

75. ‘The Mark of the Devil’ (Dogs Are Everywhere, 1986)

I cannot stress enough how joyous I find in the uncomfortable balance between pairing one of early Pulp’s grooviest basslines with lyrics such as “smiles left unfollowed start to haunt you, chances that perished long ago”. Truly, a song that will summon all the goths to the dancefloor.

74. ‘Last Day of the Miners Strike’ (Hits, 2002)

It’s easy for a band to phone it in when they are obligated to write and record a token new song for their contractually shunted Greatest Hits album. But Pulp aren’t other bands. Instead, they produced the touching and poignant ‘Last Day of the Miners Strike’, one that has their revolutionary Northern spirit pensively flowing throughout.

73. ‘Space’ (B-side to ‘O.U. (Gone, Gone), 1992)

“You said you wanted some space... well is this enough for you?” so begins this exploratory, improvisatory, experimental jam all hooked on exploring the metaphorical concept of taking space between partners into actual, literal space

72. ‘Tomorrow Never Lies’ (B-side to ‘Help the Aged’, 1997)

There is an alternative reality where Pulp did a Bond song. In theory, they are absolutely the perfect choice to do one. You can picture Jarvis’s sultry vocals married to that lush orchestral blanket of sound immediately soundtracking the opening titles to a Bond film, and ‘Tomorrow Never Lies’ almost got them that gig in our reality. Sadly pipped to the post by Sheryl Crow, and even without any bias, hers isn’t as good as this. Sorry Sheryl.

71. ‘Razzmatazz’ (standalone single, 1993)

Settle down. In what is undoubtedly my most controversial choice on this list, I have placed fan favourite ‘Razzmatazz’ at ONLY 72. What is wrong with me? The simple fact of the matter is, it just doesn’t click with me. The lyrics are too nasty; when the narrator starts berating his ex for “getting fatter” after he left her, I’m wondering am I really meant to be sympathising with this character? He sounds like a twat, she’s better off without him. And Pulp will do these kinds of salacious, bitchy breakup anthems with more nuance and depth later in their career, so in my eyes, things don’t always go better with a little bit of razzmatazz. With that said, the composition is still solid and is a certified problematic banger. And “the trouble with your brother, he’s always sleeping with your mother” will go down as one of the all-time great eye-catching song openers.

70. ‘Life Must Be So Wonderful’ (Freaks, 1987)

An emotive lament echoing shades of Lou Reed, with a simple, yet gorgeously effective guitar part from Senior.

69. ‘Sheffield: Sex City’ (B-side to ‘Babies’, 1992)

I wish I’d intentionally placed ‘Sheffield: Sex City’ at 69 for the laugh of it, but it just fell like that. I’m not that strategically funny. Another fan favourite that I have put in a dangerously low position. Before anyone starts calling for my head on a silver platter, I do like this song. A lot. I used to like it more, but the more I listened to it, the less enthralled I was by it. To put it in terms that the song would understand, ‘Sheffield: Sex City’ is all foreplay without any satisfying climax. The foreplay is excellent though.

68. ‘Street Operator’ (This Is Hardcore: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

An attack on the posh elites who Jarvis found himself brushing shoulders with in the private bars of Cool Britannia. Very fitting for the socially and culturally disaffected thematic leanings of the This Is Hardcore era, albeit tied to quite a basic tune. 

67. ‘Death II’ (Separations, 1992)

I don’t really know what to say about ‘Death II’, other than it absolutely slaps and fucks. It is ABBA, it is Madonna, it is all the great late 80s/early 90s discos that you were told about by your parents, but never went to.

66. ‘Live On’ (His N Hers: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

Jarvis at his most Barry White, a proto-This Is Hardcore dancefloor mid-life crisis breakdown. Shout-out to Russell’s smooth and sultry guitar riffing during the verses. He understood the assignment.

65. ‘Roadkill’ (We Love Life, 2001)

The most gentle moment on Pulp’s pastoral finale album, ‘Roadkill’ is a song designed to be bathed in. Close your eyes and let the melody sweep over you, let the orchestral crescendo completely immerse you and you can become one with it.

64. ‘Deep Fried in Kelvin’ (B-side to ‘Lipgloss’, 1993)

I adore the scope and scale of ‘Deep Fried in Kelvin’, an opus that spans ten minutes, epic stream-of-consciousness poetry set amongst the sprawling landscapes of Sheffield council estates. A hidden gem that is well worth seeking out.

63. ‘Fairground’ (Freaks, 1987)

‘Fairground’ is an absolute nightmare of a song, but that’s why we love her. Menacing Hammond organs with lyrical non-sequiturs (“your head is your feet”) build to a crashing chorus of Russell Senior laughing maniacally down your ears. An absolute must for any spooky Halloween playlists.

62. ‘Modern Marriage’ (This Is Hardcore: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

Very on-the-nose, but nonetheless an affecting, cynical interpretation of marriage vows. Some of Jarvis’s finest one-liners can be found in this relic; “I'm shitting Barratt houses here”, domestic sanctity more scary than anything imaginable.

61. ‘Catcliffe Shakedown’ (Different Class: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

This song is nuts. Absolutely nuts. I love it to pieces though, and am shocked that it never saw the light of day until the Different Class deluxe was released.

60. ‘Joyriders’ (His N Hers, 1994)

To sum up, His N Hers is very much an album about the scant and titillating details of relationships both romantic and purely physical. So I’m not quite sure why the band chose to open it with a song about teenage hoodlums causing havoc and stealing cars. Great song though.

59. ‘Inside Susan’ (B-side to ‘Razzmatazz’, 1993)

The centrepiece of the Inside Susan odyssey. Candida is the star here, her quirky synth riff carrying the song on its back. Alongside this, the story of Susan is compelling and you are hanging on every word Jarvis speaks, capturing that adolescent feeling of craving more than the small town you live in, desperately seeking a more meaningful existence.

58. ‘The Boss’ (His N Hers: Deluxe Edition, 2006)

This is Pulp’s attempt to write a Springsteen-esque stomper, hence the title. Only tangentially does it carry any shades of Bruce, but what it does carry is charm by the bucketload.

57. ‘Live Bed Show’ (Different Class, 1995)

Even the greatest albums of all time have to have a low point, and whilst ‘Live Bed Show’ has the burden of carrying this stone on Different Class, it is still an 8/10 song on an album full of 9s and 10s, so it shouldn’t be too disappointed. It could do with more dimension to the female protagonist who is really only defined by her sexual bereftness, but I’m aware I am speaking to a pop song that is nearly 30 years ago, so there’s only so much I can criticise.

56. ‘O.U. (Gone Gone)’ (standalone single, 1992)

Gloriously euphoric indie-disco. The way it builds and releases over the course of its runtime is nothing short of sensational.

55. ‘Little Girl (With Blue Eyes)’ (Little Girl (With Blue Eyes) and Other Pieces, 1985)

Jarvis wrote this early single about his mother, and as far as Mother’s Day presents go, you could do a lot worse. It carries a lot of melancholia, the protagonist being used by partners and never emotionally fulfilled (“there’s a hole in your heart and one between your legs, you’ve never had to wonder which one he’s going to fill”). Bonus shout-out to some well-earned “hey, hey, hey”s in the chorus. And if there’s anything you need to know about me, I love a good “hey, hey, hey” when used well.

54. ‘I’m A Man’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

An indie strut holding a mirror to the model of 90s masculinity and asks “just why we’re alive” when the unflinchingly boring trifecta of “drink”, “smoke” and “dirty joke” is all that a man can aspire to. Jarvis is correct, there really is “no point”. Be a mis-shape.

53. ‘Bob Lind (The Only Way Is Down)’ (We Love Life, 2001)

There is something so classically 60s in the arrangement here; Mark Webber’s clean guitar riff in the chorus screams The Byrds, as does Richard Hawley’s 12-string guitar that dances through the song. A stunning melodic piece, and a hopeful lyric about how to “admit that you’re a fuck-up”, the catharsis in admitting it and starting again.

52. ‘My Lighthouse’ (It, 1983)

By far and away the highlight of Pulp’s debut album, ‘My Lighthouse’ stands head and shoulders above the rest, purely because it owns its awkward charm. “It may seem strange to talk of love and then lighthouses”; it is, but it is so oddly touching. It is such a unique way of expressing love and one that grows in my affection every day.

51. ‘Ansaphone’ (B-side to ‘Disco 2000’, 1995)

Such an underrated joy of a song. Well, I say joy, when in fact it carries quite a heartfelt narrative lamenting the angst of navigating a relationship defined by distance, and the anxieties of attempting to heal this rift of communication. Up there amongst the very best B-sides Pulp ever made.

50. ‘The Trees’ (We Love Life, 2001)

I’m not quite sure if this song would be what it is without the ‘Tell Her You Love Her’ sample that is the backbone of the piece, but what we have is a beautifully poetic and wintry ballad, and the orchestrated sample truly elevates it into legendary status.

49. ‘Pencil Skirt’ (Different Class, 1995)

‘Pencil Skirt’ comes in at the perfect place in the Different Class tracklisting. ‘Mis-Shapes’ proves that Pulp are nerds, but ‘Pencil Skirt’ sashays along and tells us that they are nerds who fuck. Jarvis has “kissed your mother twice”, now he’s “working on your dad”. The most unashamedly horny moment in the Pulp catalogue, and you know what, fair play.

48. ‘The Night That Minnie Timperley Died’ (We Love Life, 2001)

A thunderous glam rock stomper that wouldn’t be out of place on an early Bowie record. Inspired by a vivid dream that Jarvis had about a girl’s murder after a DJ set, the imagery that this story conveys brings so much life (ironically) to the song, both sad and longing in equal measure.

47. ‘TV Movie’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

This Is Hardcore’s most sobering and stark moment. Jarvis pleads to reconnect with a former flame, in a song that dips in and out of hopefulness at shocking speeds.

46. ‘Have You Seen Her Lately?’ (His N Hers, 1994)

You Can Do Better: the anthem. Steve Mackey’s slinky bass is the star of the show, slithering in between Jarvis’s yearning and Candida’s shimmering synths expertly.

45. ‘Being Followed Home’ (Freaks, 1987)

The atmospheric peak of Pulp’s sophomore album. A snakey riff and clanging drums add to a sense of discomfort following our narrator, with the occasional freakout permitted.

44. ‘Bad Cover Version’ (We Love Life, 2001)

Only Jarvis Cocker could ever compare the feeling of seeing your ex in a new relationship to “a later Tom & Jerry when the two of them could talk”. Absolute genius.

43. ‘Love Is Blind’ (Separations, 1992)

From the opening yelps, to the “hey butcher!” breakdown at the end, this is one of the most overlooked treasures in the Pulp catalogue. Mysterious, sexy and so, so groovy.

42. ‘Cocaine Socialism’ (B-side to ‘A Little Soul’, 1998)

In one fell swoop, Pulp completely eviscerated Britpop, New Labour and the entire Cool Britannia movement, leaving behind a hollow husk of empty coke bags and champagne bottles. Yes, the DNA is shared with ‘Glory Days’ but the two songs couldn’t be more different. A panic attack induced by nepotism and arse-sniffing, ‘Cocaine Socialism’ looks upon that infamous image of Noel Gallagher and Tony Blair cosying up and pisses itself with laughter.

41. ‘I Love Life’ (We Love Life, 2001)

Perhaps the most explicitly optimistic song that Pulp ever made. It bubbles and fizzes as it takes in its surroundings, before exploding into the release of feedback and howling. “Corny I know” Jarvis admits, but the fresh-faced joy that the song radiates is so reciprocated.

40. ‘His N Hers’ (The Sisters EP, 1994)

I’m guessing a major admin error occurred when the band were deciding the tracklisting for His N Hers, and forgot to put on THE LITERAL TITLE TRACK. Ah well. I guess for the fans, it remains buried treasure for those willing to seek. The synths echo that Moog classic ‘Popcorn’ as Jarvis narrates a nuclear, suburban nightmare.

39. ‘My Legendary Girlfriend’ (Separations, 1992)

Phenomenal. Each new part added delivers so much to the song, it envelops you in an atmosphere that is lush, sophisticated and still slaps so hard.

38. ‘The Birds In Your Garden’ (We Love Life, 2001)

Arguably the most uplifting, poetic and sweet anthem to morning sex ever created. Jarvis elaborated “I just liked the idea of birds, which are supposed to be nice sweet creatures, kind of acting in a slightly yobbish way, and saying "get in there my son"”, which is a stroke of eccentric genius. ‘The Birds In Your Garden’ is full of humour, heart, and anthemic hooks, a highlight of We Love Life for sure.

37. ‘Lipgloss’ (His N Hers, 1994)

Very much the archetypal song of the His N Hers era for me. A narrative of romantic decline tied to technicolour disco beats and a killer chorus.

36. ‘The Professional’ (B-side to ‘This Is Hardcore’, 1998)

The best Pulp B-side. No, I will not be taking questions. The seductive crackly intro transports me into a film noir fever dream, and it contains perhaps the most self-aware and self-effacing lyrics of their career. “Just another song about single mothers and sex” Jarvis murmurs as he faces a caricature of himself down in the mirror. Utterly captivating and hypnotic.

35. ‘Monday Morning’ (Different Class, 1995)

“Why live in the world when you can live in your head?” ‘Monday Morning’ is a plea for escapism in a prison of 9 to 5 mundanity. I always get as excited by the “stomach in, chest out, on your marks, get set, GO” drop into the final chorus as I did when I heard it for the first time, that giddy tingle that only music can give you.

34. ‘Party Hard’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

Much like Blur’s 1997 self-titled album, This Is Hardcore is a Britpop hangover album, an attempt to distance themselves away from the scene that, whilst providing the lifeblood of their success, suffocated them. ‘Party Hard’ encapsulates this feeling entirely, the impossible goal of having to “make friends with everyone on the planet”, backed by an almost mechanical and artificial dance beat. It works. It works so well. “Why do we have to half kill ourselves just to prove we’re alive?”. Hard relate.

33. ‘Weeds’ (We Love Life, 2001)

A song that lingered in relative obscurity for decades before being resurrected by the band for their recent tour. I’m so glad they did, because not only does it set the stage for the folk-inspired We Love Life so well, it’s another fantastic anthem for the outcasts and weirdos whom Pulp write so much of their music for.

32. ‘Countdown’ (Separations, 1992)

In which Pulp invent Hot Chip. A classic, scuzzy, disco banger that encapsulates that feeling of suddenly being aware of your own mortality at a young age. Combine that discovery with your own raging teenage hormones, and you have a song that captures a strange time in your life in such a gorgeously odd fashion.

31. ‘Mile End’ (Trainspotting soundtrack, 1996)

An idiosyncratic, cheeky little number dedicated to every shit, run-down flat you’ve ever lived in. If you don’t relate to the lyrics on a visceral level, consider yourself lucky.

30. ‘Help the Aged’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

As well as being the Britpop hangover album, This Is Hardcore is also about reaching your 30s and suddenly becoming depressingly aware of your own mortality. ‘Help the Aged’ is Jarvis unabashedly raging against the dying of the light, choosing to reminisce on “drinking, smoking cigs and sniffing glue”, despite the overwhelming and daunting prospect of the aging process. “Funny how it all falls away”, the song repeatedly states, but it’s also somewhat terrifying.

29. ‘Weeds II (The Origin of the Species)’ (We Love Life, 2001)

The immediate sequel to ‘Weeds’ somehow manages to trump the first. “This is the true story of the weeds” Jarvis whispers amongst psychedelic guitars, and takes you on a journey through “life on the margins”. It is nothing short of mesmerising. This is what creativity is made for, and it’s the type of music that will inspire so much from it. My only complaint is that it's too short.

28. ‘Happy Endings’ (His N Hers, 1994)

This one took a while to grow on me, but grow it did. It is the slow dance at the wedding, the prom night kiss, the climactic song of a West End musical, mirrorballs and all. The romance of it all is sweeping, and paired with those achingly bittersweet lyrics, you have an all-time classic on your hands.

27. ‘Sylvia’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

The all-important moment of emotional redemption on This Is Hardcore. My eyes never fail to get misty on that final chorus after the guitar solo. “I can’t help you, but I know things are gonna get better” (cries into pillow).

26. ‘Wickerman’ (We Love Life, 2001)

Pulp’s Sheffield magnum opus, their most epic and layered ode to their hometown. We follow Jarvis’s train of thought through the nooks and crannies, rivers and landmarks of Sheffield, with many asides and distractions to anchor the story down into that trademark lyrical specificity.

25. ‘Dishes’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

“I am not Jesus, though I have the same initials”. I could justify placing ‘Dishes’ as high as I have purely based on this line and this line alone, but thankfully the rest of the song lives up. After ‘The Fear’, it brings This Is Hardcore crashing back down to reality, Jarvis choosing to indulge in intimate accomplishments instead of Messianic glory.

24. ‘The Day After the Revolution’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

This is perhaps my most eclectic, deliberately obtuse opinion on this list, but in order to truly *get* ‘The Day After the Revolution’, you have to listen to the full 14 minutes. It’s a fantastic track, regardless, but This Is Hardcore’s closing track ends not with a bang, not with a whimper, yet somewhere in between. Ten minutes of pure ambience is our final impression of the record, after Jarvis has finished his final list (“men are over, women are over, the breakdown is over, irony is over”) and that final snare hits, what we have left is the void. How do we respond to it? What do we think of the revolution? Truly? This should be triumphant; so why do we feel empty? How to sum up the emotional vaccum of an album like This Is Hardcore? It’s like a warm bath after a long, arduous ordeal, that completes the whole experience.

23. ‘Acrylic Afternoons’ (His N Hers, 1994)

A dreamlike, feverish fantasy of forbidden love set against rainy English afternoons. Three things absolutely make this song; first is Steve’s driving, steady bassline. Second, Russell’s screeching, buzzing violin. Third…that high-pitched wailing noise Jarvis makes in between the verses and chorus that only grows in intensity as the song progresses. You know the one, you can already probably hear it in your head. I don’t know how any human being could make that noise, but it elevates ‘Acrylic Afternoons’ so highly in my estimation.

22. ‘Bar Italia’ (Different Class, 1995)

The ultimate walk-of-shame song. That universal feeling of walking amongst morning professionals whilst you’re nursing a hangover that you think could quite possibly kill you, set amongst an all-night Soho cafe that has acquired legendary status since. Now whenever I go to the real Bar Italia, I can’t help but feel like a tiny little part of the song has come true. Well, without the blaring hangover.

21. ‘Seductive Barry’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

“How many others could handle it, if all their dreams came true?” Jarvis whispers. Pulp have always had a discography littered with voyeuristic scenes of sex, whereas ‘Seductive Barry’ throws an ordinary man headfirst into one of his pornographic fantasies. It’s deliberately very uncomfortable, with the audience being forced to picture the narrator’s objectified, skewered portrayal of “the greatest love scene”, but there are shades of beauty amongst the smut. The orchestration is breathtaking, and the way it climaxes is inspired.

20. ‘After You’ (standalone single, 2013)

Originally conceived during the We Love Life sessions, ‘After You’ didn’t see light until they re-recorded it with LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy, and released it as a free download to their audience at Sheffield Arena in 2012, and then to the public in 2013. ‘After You’ is one of those songs that makes you yearn for more from this James Murphy version of the band, they are such an incredible pairing. The bass absolutely pumps, the synths are sparkling, and the lyrics are classic Pulp; “the scriptures foretell of a party in Hackney”, blending the biblical with the metropolitan, and Jarvis rhyming “Tesco” with “disco” a whole decade before it crossed Damon Albarn’s mind.

19. ‘Sorted for E’s and Wizz’ (Different Class, 1995)

A darkly comedic and quirky dissection of rave culture, where there is a desperate search for meaning amongst the superficial drugged up conversations, lasers and mindless hedonism. At the time, the song was a centre of controversy in the tabloids for supposedly “glorifying” drug use, but it comes from such a personal place of Jarvis’s own ambivalence towards raves he attended that that argument falls apart to anyone with even 5% of a critical ear.

18. ‘A Little Soul’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

Partnered with ‘I’m A Man’, these two songs are the ones that shine a light on toxic, corrosive forms of masculinity, but it’s the first of these, ‘A Little Soul’, that leaves the biggest impact. It’s a song about a father abandoning his son, despite being fully aware of his wrongdoing, and urging the son not to make the same mistakes he has made throughout his life. Potentially inspired by Jarvis’s own relationship with his father, it’s such a nuanced portrayal of parental neglect; the father is a three-dimensional character who we end up feeling pity for by the end of the song, so entrenched in his own misery that he cannot even “show a little soul”. And then the song just ends. It’s a gut-punch, but one so in touch with reality. 

17. ‘Disco 2000’ (Different Class, 1995)

We’ve done some magic clapping and summoned this, perhaps only second to ‘Common People’ in the pantheon of Pulp’s biggest hits. A tale of an unrequited school crush set to shimmering, glossy power chords, and glorious lyrical detail. You can still remember the minute intricacies of a childhood friend’s house, can’t you? “Woodchip on the wall” and all. Or that landmark in town where you’d all meet, it may be a “fountain down the road”, a left lion (for my fellow Nottingham pals), or some other notable piece of architecture that remains embedded in your mind’s eye, that simmer of nostalgia.

16. ‘The Fear’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

What a statement to make after your commercially successful, critically acclaimed, award winning album. To turn the mirror on yourself and make a song so haunted, so meta, so confrontational, requires skill and guts. The sound of Pulp’s new-found fame isn’t pretty; “the sound of loneliness turned up to ten, a horror soundtrack from a stagnant water-bed”. Not only does it set the stage immaculately for the album that is to follow, but in its own right, ‘The Fear’ is such a masterpiece.

15. ‘Like A Friend’ (Great Expectations soundtrack, 1998)

Echoing ‘Pale Blue Eyes’ by The Velvet Underground, ‘Like A Friend’ lures you in with cynical lyrics bemoaning a parasitic friendship. “Don’t bother saying you’re sorry, why don’t you come in?”: these behavioural patterns have become such a routine to our narrator now, and the resigned, laid-back music reflects this so well. And THEN it drops. The crunching guitars come in, the marching drums, the release, the explosion. Jarvis lists all the pent-up feelings in a succession of metaphor and simile; “like a film that’s so bad, but I gotta stay till the end, let me tell you, it’s lucky for you that we’re friends”. A fan-favourite that was deservedly a staple of recent setlists.

14. ‘She’s A Lady’ (His N Hers, 1994)

It. Fuuuuccckkks. Pulp channel ‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor, but completely make it their own. That moment when the dirty guitars come in during the verses, it is glorious. Ed Buller’s slightly lo-fi production absolutely makes this song what it is, it feels dangerous, intimate yet all-encompassing. Jarvis has played the track on recent JARV IS tours, but I would give anything to hear it with the whole Pulp setup.

13. ‘Babies’ (His N Hers, 1994)

I mean, genuinely, what is there to say here that hasn’t been said? Everybody loves this song. Perhaps the song that truly kickstarted Pulp’s nationwide success, it contains that scant suburban voyeurism, that messy teenage angst and the fizzy indie pop that defined who they were for years. An absolutely barnstorming live song, all building up to the “I only went with her cause she looks like you!” punchline that everybody yells.

12. ‘David’s Last Summer’ (His N Hers, 1994)

Partly a funky jam session, partly a short story read by Jarvis in his trademark Yorkshire tones, wholly a song that completely captures the feelings of summer when you are young. That summer when you go to house parties “whilst it's still light outside”, putting drinks in ice buckets to chill, “both of us knowing that we'd drink it long before it had chance”. That uncontainable thrill of the summer where your life begins is curtailed by the passing of time, the cooling of temperatures and the dampening of mood. “Summer's going so hurry soon it'll be gone”. I’ve never heard a song that explicitly holds this mood as well as ‘David’s Last Summer’, and for that  I will always adore it.

11. ‘Something Changed’ (Different Class, 1995)

The most candidly romantic song in the Pulp discography; if you’re going to get married to any of these songs, I wholly recommend this one. Sweeping strings, poetic lyrics about fate and coincidence, and how that all ties together into meeting that one special person. It gained a further dimension on the recent tour; before it was played, Jarvis dedicated the song to Steve’s memory, always delivering such a poignant speech about how their lives and music were enriched by his presence. Not a dry eye in the house.

10. ‘Pink Glove’ (His N Hers, 1994)

I cannot stress enough what a marvel this song is. It is layered in atmosphere, in 80s new-wave gloss, in cavernous vocals, in slinky bass, in so much raw emotion. Jarvis’s vocal delivery goes from resentment, to pleading, to desperation, to his voice literally cracking at the very end of the song. It is a very real song filled with frustration, jealousy and all the negative feelings that can gather. The protagonist is painted in an almost pathetic light, but we understand where they’re coming from. ‘Pink Glove’ comes from a very human place, and it has endured so long in people’s hearts and memories for that reason.

9. ‘Glory Days’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

I absolutely understand everybody who prefers ‘Cocaine Socialism’, but the final version of that song became ‘Glory Days’, and it is a much more subtle encapsulation of the message ‘Cocaine Socialism’ was going for, dripping with biting sarcasm. “Come and share this golden age with me in my single-room apartment” Jarvis sings, and goes on to attest that a life without enlightenment and artistic merit isn’t as worth it as a life solely dedicated to finding new methods of mediocrity; “we were brought up on the space race, now they expect you to clean toilets, when you’ve seen how big the world is, how can you make do with this?” And, you know me, I LOVE a big key change, and ‘Glory Days’ has one. +10 points.

8. ‘F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.’ (Different Class, 1998)

My mum got me into Pulp. She used to listen to Different Class all the time whilst doing housework; I was entranced by the album when I was 12, overhearing these rebellious and revolutionary songs of sex and class struggle, but in particular this song. The way it built for about a minute and a half with a steady bassline and screeching violins before Jarvis had even spoken a word. And when he spoke, he sounded like he was out of breath. It felt quite creepy actually. I hadn’t heard music like this before. Suddenly… “WHAT”. I am terrified. I have been lulled into a false sense of security and jumpscared by a pop song. Call the police. The song itself is remarkable; the only love song to portray love as something not sweet or desirable, but terrifying and nauseating; “like some small animal that only comes out at night”. It held me then and it holds me now.

7. ‘Do You Remember the First Time?’ (His N Hers, 1994)

As close to perfection as a pop song can get. The slow synth build-up with the shuffling hi-hat builds to such a lifting chorus. The pinnacle of the song is that final chorus with the added synth line; it’s such a reward for the listener. And I applaud anyone who can sneak in a song with references to vibrators into the UK Top 10.

6. ‘Underwear’ (Different Class, 1995)

‘Underwear’ is a moment frozen in time; that particular moment when you’re about to have a one-night stand with a stranger and suddenly you stop and think “what the hell am I actually doing here?”. It is a stroke of pure pop genius, the chorus is a belter, the longing and confused emotions carrying it. Hooks build upon hooks, and the instrumental breakdowns that happen in the middle and the very end are divine.

5. ‘Mis-Shapes’ (Different Class, 1995)

A national anthem for those who have been told that they don’t belong. To those outside the cliques, the weirdos, the underclass. This is for you. It feels like it has been made with such love and dedication, from one group of mis-shapes to their equally eccentric fanbase. It’s a song that holds particular resonance with me, a working class queer kid who “learnt too much at school”. Full disclosure, at their Finsbury Park show in July when Jarvis dedicated this song to the LGBTQIA+ community, I wept. It meant so much to hear this song that I had built as a personal manifesto carrying me through turbulent times be affirmed right back to me, not just as mine, but as ours. The future is owned by you and me.

4. ‘Sunrise’ (We Love Life, 2001)

The final track on the final Pulp album. You cannot end a discography on a higher note than ‘Sunrise’, and there’s a tiny part of me that doesn’t want a new Pulp album purely so this can be their grand finale. Of course that tiny part of me dies when I hear ‘After You’ and ‘Hymn of the North’ and long for future work, but what a way to wrap up your artistic output. It entrances you, before it lifts you into its other-worldly instrumental explosion and leaves you healed. After the soul-crushing ache of This Is Hardcore, We Love Life leaves us on a note of pure, unbridled optimism. It grabs life by the wheel and is determined to make you appreciate what you couldn’t see before. It is beautiful.

3. ‘This Is Hardcore’ (This Is Hardcore, 1998)

Nothing could set Pulp further apart from their peers, their audience or the general public than to release a six minute, alienating orchestral lounge jam with no real chorus. And that’s where the genius of ‘This Is Hardcore’ lies. Throughout their career, we have seen Jarvis as a fly on the wall in sexual encounters, describing them with fervent glee and metaphors abound. ‘This Is Hardcore’ embraces the single entendre; “that goes in there, then that goes in there, then that goes in there, then that goes in there, and then it’s over”. A joyless, rudimentary description of intercourse, the mood is robotic, sinister, helpless and hopeless. The album art captures it best; a model with all the life drained from her, all gloss, no soul. The charming voyeurism of prior albums is gone, on ‘This Is Hardcore’, “you can’t be a spectator”, instead you have to witness these awful scenes play out as if you were really there. Of course it is a meta comment on fame itself, how people get chewed up and spit out by the entertainment industry, with the demand of “an encore” always waiting. The sleazy, slimy horns really build the intensity, and the strings at the end capture a hidden delicacy.

2. ‘Common People’ (Different Class, 1995)

There are certain songs that often crop up in Greatest Songs Of All Time lists that when you see them, you have to respond with “yeah, wouldn’t argue with that”. You know, ‘Born To Run’, ‘Respect’, ‘Hey Ya!’, etc. ‘Common People’ is one of those songs where you could make the case for it being the Greatest Song Of All Time, and it would be impossible to argue against it. Everything clicks. The bubbling undercurrent of resentment when posh kids attempt to appropriate a working class lifestyle that completely explodes in the main chorus. Amongst the Cool Britannia movement in which their contemporaries smiled and waved the flag, Pulp were here to shine light upon the broken society that we chose to ignore. Simultaneously not Britpop, yet incredibly Britpop, it became an anthem for the age, and deservedly so. It’s very rare that such a defiant statement infiltrates the pop charts, yet that’s where the alchemy lies.

1. ‘I Spy’ (Different Class, 1995)

If I were to give you the answer of what *the* definitive Pulp song was, the one that captured all the elements of this band that I have spoken about in this list, ‘I Spy’ is the one. It contains the dark, brooding, Gothic orchestra that illuminated Freaks in the intro, before slamming down on a shuffling disco hi-hat, making us boogie whilst feeling tense all the same. The sex is there, the voyeurism is there, the plight of the outsiders and the working classes are all there. Jarvis is breathy, whispering in his proto-ASMR glory. It builds to a stunning crescendo, and releases in majestic fashion. Tell me there isn’t a greater moment in all of music than the anguished, cathartic battle-cry of “take your year in Provence and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!”. It is the highest of art in the lowest of places, Tolstoy on an ITV soap opera budget. The choice to have this as their opening song for their 2023 reunion is utterly inspired, a grand way to reintroduce yourselves to the world.

It is THE Pulp song.

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