By Álvaro Ramal
Two weeks ago, on September 6, the legendary Britpop band Pulp stopped by The Anthem as part of the North American leg of their “Here Comes More Pulp” tour commemorating the release of their eighth LP More, their first in twenty-four years. After too many days of organizing thoughts and compiling notes, I present an off-kilter chronicle of a night I will never forget, complete with lackluster visual aid. Please enjoy.
I’d been anticipating this show since they announced the tour back in April. Even if I’ve never considered myself a big fan of Pulp, my mom had always played me the generational genre-defining masterpiece that is “Common People,” and that was enough for me to heavily consider seeing them live. So after feeling some intense Britpop FOMO as the Gallagher brothers geared up for their biblical return to the stage and doing some quick research on the r/pulp subreddit to see if they were still worth seeing live, I bought my $85 ticket three days before the show.
As is usual with my time (mis)management, I got to The Anthem at 7:50 p.m. with the show starting at eight. I thought that my hopes for a good spot were in vain; however, the sea of fans was still at high tide and I rode the waves to a decent middle spot on the ground floor. From what I could scan, the venue was full of Gen X and early millennial anglophiles with few young faces scattered around. I felt like a baby. I had to tread lightly.
The audience’s anticipation grew more and more as the speakers played ‘90s alt-rock hits to warm up the night. Some twenty minutes passed before the screen turned black and the phrase ‘This performance is an encore” shot up. The Anthem went mad. They were just getting their extra songs, 27 years after the band’s last performance in Washington, D.C.
An airhorn shot through the noise and one by one, the band started to come out. The accompanying members for the tour first: drummers, keyboardists and the tour violinist. Then, the core members, or at least those left, made their way up in all their veteran, “I got more left in me” glory. Guitarist Mark Webber, drummer Nick Banks, the ever fabulous keyboardist Candida Doyle, and, in an entrance more fit for a god than a middle class hero (I suppose they serve as synonyms in this case), Jarvis Cocker—the 61 year old slenderman and one of England’s last true showmen—climbed the stage’s makeshift stairs and struck a pose. They began the night’s setlist with “Sorted for E’s & Wizz” from their 1995 album Different Class as four car dealership tubemen flailed across the stage.
Immediately, it felt different from any other concert I’ve ever been to. It was clear that I was in the presence of legends.
I say this because of a mixture of things. From the technical side, the stage’s visuals and lighting were some of the most fun and eye-catching production design elements I’d ever seen. Multi colored hands rose up to the tune of songs’ instrumental interludes, faux digital chandeliers hung over the band during their more sensual songs, a blinding sun that left the group in a silhouetted frame, red, pink and orange lens flares that made everything feel like a disco dancefloor (they were fittingly used during “Disco 2000”) and a very charming visual dynamic of two orbs pitted against each other, representing both sides of the audience and their vocal participation in the chorus of “O.U. (Gone, Gone)”.
This latter example trickles down to my next point, which is, undoubtedly, Jarvis Cocker’s hypnotic stage presence. I mean, what the fuck. The man’s 61 and he still commands the stage with no difficulty at all. Great vocal performances and awkward mating dances aside (which I loved), Cocker’s connection with the audience came explicitly from bits, stories, and, simply, the sense that he was enjoying himself while singing the songs that made him one of the most eclectic figures in modern music.
Cocker’s irreverent sense of humor took hold in songs like “My Sex,” which the group had to restart after he simply forgot the opening lyrics. After making one of the supporting keyboardists hand him his phone with the lyrics pulled up, he proceeded to finish the song whilst lying on the floor. Bit or not, it was a very human moment that I appreciated. During the introduction of “Farmers Market,” another song from their latest album, Cocker recalled the moment he and his wife first met in a farmers market parking lot, all while chucking grapes and chocolates from his trouser pockets into the crowd.
Two songs later, Webber, Banks, and Doyle joined the frontman on center stage for an acoustic, cajon drum-led and very emotional rendition of “Something Changed,” a love-letter to their Sheffield beginnings, long-lasting friendship and general career as a rock band. Images of their early years flashed on the screen, presenting a clear juxtaposition between the four as wild, unconventional youth to them now as experienced artists and masters of their craft. The visuals also served as a tribute to Steve Mackey, Pulp’s longtime bassist, who passed away in 2023. For a band that I hadn’t connected with much beforehand, I sure as hell left many tears on The Anthem’s floor.
Another two songs later, Cocker took the opportunity to show some love to D.C.’s historic music venues by raising a 9:30 Club t-shirt whilst reminiscing about their past two concerts in D.C., including their last in 1998, in which they opened for Radiohead in the original 9:30 Club— an honorable shoutout to one of the cornerstones of live music in the District. He then threw the shirt into the audience as the band proceeded to sing the appropriately placed and extremely evocative, “Do You Remember the First Time?” from their 1994 record, His N’ Hers. Not a single soul stood still.
The third ingredient that really drove this whole show into a league of its own was the audience’s energy. Everybody danced, sang along, embraced, jumped, screamed, and just had a great damn time. Almost no cellphones were noticeable. It really seemed as if everybody not only wanted, but needed to take in as much of the show as possible, as a sort of outlet for emotional release. It was soooooo refreshing. Songs like the outcast anthem “Mis-Shapes,” “This is Hardcore,” the iconic “Babies,” “Acrylic Afternoons” and “F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.,” the powerful call toward what Cocker believes to be “the basis of all human life and the most important word in the human language,” caused most of this crowd’s commotion. That is, until they ended the show with “Common People.”
Anything that I write about seeing this song live will not do it justice. As the first notes kicked in and Cocker sang that first dagger of a line— ”She came from Greece, she had a taste for knowledge”— I immediately cried again. I fully gave myself in. For the entirety of the song (which was extended as Cocker introduced his bandmates) the audience and Pulp became one, basking in the importance of just being a normal person that gets groceries, laughs, plays pool, sees roaches climb the wall of a rented apartment, dances, drinks, and screws. Because, again, “…there’s nothing else to do.” Despite the song being written about a wealthy art student who wanted to experience what it felt like to be part of the Sheffield working class, its storytelling is still some of the most universal poetry ever put to song. Its tongue-in-cheek-ness has stood the test of time and has given audiences, like the one on that Saturday night, a defining anthem that both encapsulates the fabric of the everyday and, now more than ever, resists against the ever-growing dehumanization that is driving our world to ruin. All I wrote on my notes app was: Common People (Thank God I’m alive).
After finishing the song and leaving the stage for some eight minutes, Pulp, as well as the four tubemen, returned to the stage for a five-song encore. This extra treat included the classic “Joyriders” from His N’ Hers and three songs from their 1998 LP, This is Hardcore, including “Help The Aged,” which ironically required the crowd to help Cocker reach the chorus’s high notes. To close out the two-hour performance, the band played More’s outro “A Sunset,” a song about the hypothetical extremes of worldwide greed that would result in people needing to buy tickets to see the sunset, while people, like Cocker, just want to buy the world more time to sing, dance, and enjoy what really matters in this short and unforgiving life. A sentiment felt all throughout their performance.
After concluding the song, the band, including Banks who was now wearing a Free D.C. shirt, all came together at center stage to soak in the audience’s deafening applause. It felt as if everybody wanted them to keep going until sunrise. Then, right before leaving D.C. for the third time in their 47-year journey, Cocker screamed out, “We will be back!”—a promise that I sincerely hope is not broken.
As I was leaving The Anthem, I felt immediate nostalgia for one of the most pro-human spectacles that I’ve had the privilege of experiencing. GO SEE PULP LIVE IF YOU CAN!
