At the Zenith Paris-La Villette on the evening of July 7, Jarvis Cocker’s tribe revisited Pulp’s repertoire without embalming it, transforming the concert into a grand electric and fantastical celebration.
Ce n’est pas hardcore. Ce n’est que du love. Et c’est Pulp qui, pour sa date parisienne au Zénith Paris-La Villette – quatorze ans après son dernier concert dans la capitale aux Inrocks Festival –, a réussi le tour de force de non seulement le remplir en un claquement de doigts mais aussi de le rendre aussi chaleureux qu’un cabaret un brin décadent de la fin du XXe siècle, quand on pensait encore que le monde avait des siècles devant lui et nous aussi.
Far from resting on his laurels to secure retirement points, Jarvis Cocker goes all out, even to the point of sweating buckets, pulling up his pants that keep slipping – one must admit it’s roughly a thousand degrees on this sweltering evening. He dances, always armed with his expressionistic gesturing, evoking both the pioneers of German modernity in the 1920s and the tremors of a deeply freakish kid who decided, one fine day, to be comfortable in his own skin.
A National Celebration Vibe
When we first saw Pulp in June 2025 at the O2 Arena in London, a week after the release of their comeback album More, the gig had the vibe of a national celebration. The crowd was ecstatic, the lyrics shouted along, total complicity. But the show hadn’t yet been as polished as the Paris performance on July 6. One of the final legs of a tour that takes them from European stadiums to festival stages. And, still surrounded by Candida Doyle (who, as deserved, would be given an ovation at the end of the show), Mark Webber (the former groupie-roadie turned guitarist) and Nick Banks (lord of the drums), as well as five devoted musicians to the Pulp cause, Jarvis Cocker delivers a wildly flamboyant show… and not snobbish for all that. The aim is to please beyond the beaten tracks of the setlist that reserves the hits for the end. And to hand out, as a mad MC, chocolates to the crowd!
The set opens with Sorted for E’s & Wizz, from Different Class (1995), before Disco 2000 immediately transports those who hadn’t yet stepped inside into Pulp’s galaxy. It has fine-tuned a very effective setup, alternating anthems and outsiders, old treasures and freshly minted tracks for More. From that record we’ll get the irresistible Spike Island, the aptly named Got to Have Love, the closing A Sunset, or the heartbreak ballad Slow Jam, one of the loveliest tracks on this unexpectedly eighth album.
Shirt with checks that he will swap in the second half for a tighter black, tight black jeans, a somewhat tousled but not too wild hair, Jarvis Cocker is a British crooner who still embraces Gainsbourg’s influence, borrowing from it (and making it his own) with elegant nonchalance. He talks, jokes, theatrically tailors each word of his interludes and embodies a repertoire he clearly takes pride in defending. And there’s reason, because nothing here has aged. Witness, of course, the unchanging Common People and Underwear, from His ‘n’ Hers (1994), which ironies the post-adolescent desire.
This Is Hardcore Has Not Lost Any of Its Twilight Aura
As for the sumptuous This Is Hardcore, defined by warm colors, a baroque chandelier and chiaroscuro lighting, it has not lost any of its twilight aura, while Sunrise (We Love Life, 2001) lets us catch our breath in a meditative mode before a well-deserved intermission. Another excellent idea, this intermission made in Pulp, where the audience (multigenerational, we should note) revels around cigarettes and beers. And they must choose, via a wildly entertaining quiz on the big screen, between Have You Seen Her Lately? and Don’t You Want Me Anymore? from His ‘n’ Hers. The former will win, and it benefits from a live revival that hadn’t happened since 2012.
Back in action, Jarvis Cocker reopens the battle with Something Changed, another classic from Different Class. With Pulp, the England of ordinary people, the “common people,” thus, earns noble letters worthy of Buckingham Palace. On stage, in no particular order, O.U. (Gone, Gone), Pulp’s 1992 debut single, Acrylic Afternoons, the unchanging Do You Remember the First Time?, the euphoric Mis-Shapes, , the slam-covered She’s a Lady, and the fabulous Babies, accompanied by images from young Jarvis in the nineties: “Well it happened years ago, when you live on Stanhope Road / We listened to your sister, when she came from school / Cos she was two years older and she had boys in her room / I listened outside, I heard her, all right.”
The protest song Begging for Change will also resonate, recorded for War Child’s charity compilation in 2026. We have fun, but we do not ignore the violence of the world. For there are few Jarvis Cocker capable of making crowds sing together and dance in overheated rooms while speaking to them about loneliness, frustration, social disorder, and the injustice of time passing. And that time tonight, rather than wrecking us with nostalgia, has never been so jubilant.
