A decade’s perspective sorts the wheat from the chattel. Forget about Blur or Oasis, Jarvis was the real Britpop talent, and Pulp’s demise one of the most discouraging aspects of end-of-century pop. Reeling from the aftermath of Different Class and the Jacko Brits fiasco (which, from this end of the telescope, looks like the act of a very sane man) Cocker seemed to seek solace in obscurity and outsider art. After that muted final Pulp album he pretty much disappeared for five years.
There were encouraging noises in recent times: collaborations with Nancy Sinatra and Charlotte Gainsbourg, a weird and wonderful appearance at the Hogwarts Ball in Harry Potter & The Goblet Of Fire, show-stealing cameos at the Leonard Cohen tribute shows, and a glorious download-only comeback anthem to commemorate Live 8, ‘Cunts Are Still Running The World’ (included here as a hidden track).
And now, praise be, a full-length solo debut, with a little help from old muckers like Richard Hawley (whose influence on the sound of this record can’t be overstated) and Steve Mackey. Consider this the return of the thin white duke; the revenge of the nerd as full-grown man. Mind you, there’s no manifesto to compare with the class-war-in-the-bedroom scenarios of ‘I Spy’, or the highlife horrors of This Is Hardcore. Nope, Jarvis is all about the songs: carefully constructed, immaculately arranged and perfectly produced songs set to ’60s chamber pop tapestries, spiked with the lyrical skills of Lee or Leonard or Serge, and a smattering of the post-punk/avant garde sensibilities of latter-day Scott Walker.
‘Don’t Let Him Waste Your Time’ is a glorious big band confection with nagging glam guitar hooks, and a caution to a female friend infatuated with a beau of dubious character. ‘Black Magic’ could be Lennon doing Buckley’s ‘Kangaroo’ with a band borrowed from Gene Pitney and production values cribbed from Dave Fridmann. ‘Heavy Weather’ is drop dead gorgeous Carnaby Street pop with chiming guitars. And Cocker’s knack with a self-mythologising line is still intact: ‘From A To I’ envisages the desultory end of the affair in grand terms (“So like the Roman Empire failed away/Let me tell ya we are going the same way.”)
There are, of course, some dark episodes. ‘I Will Kill Again’ is a note from the bunker in which the deathly ladies’ man reflects on his retirement from the scene while fingering razors before the shaving mirror (“People tell ya, what a real nice guy ya are/So come and serenade them on your acoustic guitar/And don’t believe me if I claim to be your friend/Cos given half the chance I know that I will kill again”); ‘Disney Time’ a malignant little tune with shimmering tremelo guitar, strings and chorale; ‘Tonite’ a dreamy ‘Baby-everything’s-fucked-so-let’s-go-out-tonight’ ballad.
But it’s far from a fatalistic record. In the closing fantasia ‘Quantum Theory’ (“Last night I slipped through time/To a parallel dimension”), Cocker the arch-ironist contrives an avowedly unironic happy ending, albeit one that takes place at the other end of a wormhole, understanding that sometimes the listener is like a child at bedtime, wanting to be told everything’s okay, even – especially – if it’s a lie. But it’s the quality of the delusion that counts.
Ring them bells: Jarvis is a stunning return.