If memory serves, my very first column here was about Jarvis. Hopefully I’m not repeating myself, but I doubt anyone even remembers it. Lately, I’ve felt like writing about him again.
Jarvis is one of my favorite lyricists ever. His words have helped me through a lot of hard times. He’s one of the purest artists out there, because he’s never let his work overshadow his own personality. When you think of The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, or Jimi Hendrix, they almost don’t seem human. Their work is so legendary that they’ve become a part of our culture, and that’s part of their appeal. And while Pulp never reached that kind of fame to begin with, it was always obvious that Jarvis never wanted it. He never wanted to be seen as anything but human. His work is poignant and very sincere. If you listen to Pulp’s discography and Jarvis’ later solo albums in order, it’s almost like an autobiography of his life. You get a clear sense of what he was going through when each album was written.
Jarvis’ sense of integrity often clashed with the industry he worked in - most famously in 1996, when he crashed Michael Jackson’s performance at the Brit Awards. Michael had a specific routine for Earth Song. He’d go on stage and the fans would weep just for being in his presence. And as he began singing about poverty, actors dressed as peasants and third-world refugees would hobble onto the stage, singing “What about us?” A giant screen in the background would play images of pollution and war. And as the song climaxed, Michael would “float” above the crowd on a raised platform, and then tear away his outfit to reveal glowing white robes. He’d hold his arms out to mimic Christ on the cross, as the peasants and villagers touched his hands to be “healed”. This pretentious millionaire saw himself as some kind of savior. He saw his music as a gift to the world; and every time he went on stage, he was validated by a public who worships celebrities.
That year at the Brit Awards, Pulp was also set to play, so Jarvis was backstage. Midway through the performance, he got angry and impulsively decided to run on stage. About 10 seconds into this clip, you can see him approach the stage from the left side.
When asked why he did it, Jarvis said that he considered Michael a great musician – but art is a form of connection, not superiority. In other words, if an artist creates something and his fans are moved by it, it’s a form of bonding and equality. Jarvis is so sincere because he knows that other people have gone through the things he writes about, too. He sees his music as a sort of emotional conversation with those who understand him. Most celebrities think their fame puts them above the world; Jarvis understood that it simply connected him to it.
When you listen to his music, it’s easy to see why he felt that way. His work is raw, fearless, and poetic. My favorite album happens to be his biggest “failure”, Pulp’s This is Hardcore. After more than a decade together, Pulp had suddenly reached worldwide fame with Different Class. Jarvis was engaged to the girl of his dreams, and things were better than ever. But the more the music industry accepted him, the more he began to resent the massive egos and wealth he saw all around him. And without warning, one day his fiancée left him. Jarvis was shattered, and that emptiness became This is Hardcore. He was barely able to finish the album before completely breaking down and abandoning his world, escaping to New York to piece things together. Jarvis later wrote, “In the end, This is Hardcore may be the sound of failure – but it’s the most successful rendition of the sound of failure ever put to tape. So there.” I couldn’t agree more; this album is a soundtrack to fear, jealousy, and sexual frustration. Even the cover art perfectly captures those feelings. The front cover features a woman in a pornographic pose. It’s a photograph, but the woman’s face has been replaced with a painting; it takes the life right out of her eyes. It makes you sad in a way you can’t put into words. The inside jacket art features Jarvis, exactly as I picture him during the making of this album.
Not long afterward, Pulp split up. Since then, Jarvis has released two solo albums, every bit as great as his previous work. He also made small appearances in films – he was the lead singer of the Weird Sisters in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and he played Petey in Fantastic Mr. Fox. Most Americans have no idea who he is, but those little moments are my favorite parts of both films. I love that he’s always doing new things, but he’s never hoping for anything more than a connection with a small group of people. He sees the world in a way that so few people do.
I could go on for hours, but when it comes to this sort of thing, I think it’s best to let the artist’s work speak for itself. Depending on what I’m going through in life, certain songs affect me in certain ways, so it’s impossible to pick a “best of” compilation. But here are a few songs that I’ve been very close to lately.
I’ll start with the title track from This is Hardcore. I normally don't care for music videos (they detract from the music itself), but this one works well. It shows us the hallmarks of Americana - dinner parties, young couples in love, Hollywood, and sexy women; but it also shows how artificial these fantasies are. As much as we love the movies, life doesn't really work that way. "The good old days" never actually existed - they just had different kinds of problems. This is Pulp's disgust at the vanity and self-obsession people bury themselves in, trying to pretend that their lives are more than they really are.
Next, here's a live version of The Fear - "the sound of loneliness, turned up to 10".
To me, this could be the theme song for sexual frustration.
I Spy was the first Pulp song that really got to me. It's so full of hate, yet so full of love.
I could post a lot more, but I've probably already written too much. So I'll end with Disco 2000 - Jarvis' musings on loving someone who never loves you back, and what it means to move on.