Pulp, We Love Life (Island) 9+
While even the crème de la crème of the mid-90s Britpop scene (mainly Blur) already sounds dated, Pulp always stood slightly apart and above the rest, possibly because they had been around far longer, having lived through the previous British pop invasion of the early 80s. Surviving obscurity and several incarnations since 1978 has added extra layers of depth perception that their peers lacked. 23 years later they have demonstrated the same kind of staying power as their producer Scott Walker, with their seventh and best album. While 1998's This Is Hardcore was a dark, cynical reaction to their experiences with celebrity and decadence (when Pulp's popularity peaked in '95 with Different Class they were celebrated practically as national heroes), We Love Life is a lush romp in the garden. Walker defiantly undermined his massive mainstream popularity in the 60s and early 70s by recording a series of intense, difficult solo albums, culminating in the impenetrable Tilt ('95). Given Pulp's past flirtations with the artier side of Roxy Music and Bowie, it would not have been surprising if they'd taken the same path. We Love Life, however, is surprisingly inviting. The sound is rich and expansive, ambitious yet easy to grasp. This doesn't mean that the album is a placid walk in the park lyrically. Jarvis Cocker still has plenty of bile to serve up with his tossed salad of nature (embattled yet resilient) metaphors. The album opens with a two-song suite, "Weeds" easing gently into a lumbering acoustic number. "Weeds II (The Origin Of The Species)" segues smoothly into psychedelic guitars, building into a symphony of stately vocal choruses. The core of the song addresses, with barely contained rage, the condescending way the music industry treats its product ("C'mon do your funny little dance.") "The Night That Minnie Timperley Died" features power chords reminiscent of Ziggy Stardust, while the melancholic romanticism of "The Trees" is centered around a funereal organ solo. The eight-minute long "Wickerman" revisits Neil Young's tragic themes from "Down By The River," but with Cocker talk-singing in a buttery, sensual croon. After the centerpiece, the album lightens up with few slighter songs, and then picks up with "Bad Cover Version," a brilliantly cheeky comment on decent artists who's work inevitably turns to shit, a dilemma Pulp are probably aware that they've successfully avoided so far. "Sunrise" is the stunning grand finale, with a choral buildup that recalls "You Can't Always Get What You Want," ending with a refreshingly balls-out rocking climax. Too smart and prickly to appeal to the fans of Coldplay and Travis' damp sentimentalism, it's hard to say if We Love Life's uncompromising artistry will be rewarded the same way Radiohead's recent albums have. I hope so, for it would be just desserts for a veteran band just arrived at its peak.
