Pulp – His ‘N’ Hers

Does anyone else remember a TV show called Naked City? I’m sure it’s not just something I dreamt (unlike the romantic tryst between myself and Eddie the Eagle Edwards that scarred me for a while but was definitely not real). Well it was on Naked City that I first saw Eddie (Izzard not The Eagle) AND Babies by Pulp. Life-affirming stuff indeed.

His ‘N’ Hers is bristling with confusion, teenage assignations, pervery, hopes, dreams, mistakes and tiny, tiny but overwhelming sadnesses. Catchy as a rash pop gems such as Babies, Lip Gloss, Do You Remember The First Time? rub up along danker sexual soirées from Acrylic Afternoons and She’s A Lady. Finger pointing and lofty superiority are executed deftly within that millimetre turning circle between arrogance and worthiness on Joyriders.

At times Jarvis is singing the sounds of sex, at times the sounds of brutal pity. Quotable and infinitely singalongable His ‘N’ Hers fills a whole in any lonesome night, reassures that while, yeah, your weirdest thoughts might not be strictly normal, they can at least be exciting.

Of course it was with the era-defining Different Class that Pulp cemented themselves in the intelligent, estate dwelling, commentating-and-shaping troubadour role, but like Bowie’s Hunky Dory sometimes the journey to the pinnacle is as exciting to watch as the main event itself.

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