Jarvis Cocker: Forget Britpop, here’s the ultimate British artist
From his humble beginnings in Sheffield, where he co-founded Pulp in the late 1970s, to his later Hollywood collaborations with the visionary director Wes Anderson, Jarvis Cocker has proved himself to be one of Britain’s most stylish and consistent entertainers. During a sluggish drag of an anvil to mainstream popularity through the 1980s, Cocker and his Pulp bandmates encountered the modal experience of British culture, soaking in the grime of London squats and dusty backstreet pubs.
Although not likely appreciated at the time, these long years of disappointment nurtured a special kind of misery, disdain for authority and appreciation of art that can be so seamlessly bound to the British soul. As many people of advanced age will attest, one can learn much more outside the school walls; all the same, St Martin’s College remains a vital milestone in Cocker’s journey.
In 1988, the Pulp frontman took a sabbatical from his failing music career to study Fine Art and Film at Saint Martin’s School of Art. He graduated in 1991 after three years of studying under Vera Neubauer and Malcolm Le Grice. As we know, it was here that he met the anonymous muse of Pulp’s 1995 hit ‘Common People’, but on a holistic level, this educational tenure sharpened the singer’s creative touch.
Following his study of film and art, Cocker returned to Pulp, who began to re-energise their sound with a disco-infused approach to contemporary rock. The band finally broke through in 1994 after releasing His ‘n’ Hers. It was the same year that Oasis made their first notch on the Britpop bedpost with Definitely Maybe, a seismic moment for British music.
Whether they liked it or not, Pulp’s newfound success would be dragged under the Britpop banner. As their popularity soared to new summits in 1995, courtesy of the decade-defining masterpiece Different Class, Pulp found themselves bundled together with Oasis, Blur and Suede as a quarter of the so-called ‘Big Four’ of the Britpop wave.
Like their ‘Big Four’ neighbours, Cocker and Pulp were notably uncomfortable with the ‘Cool Britannia’ association. For starters, Cocker is a refined, besuited gent a decade Liam Gallagher’s senior who could get on board with the tinted shades, but to hell with the Adidas trainers and bucket hats. Reflecting on the Britpop title in a 2020 interview with the NME, Cocker revealed that it “made me throw up at the time.”
He added: “I’m really glad that at the time, I didn’t get hoodwinked and go along with that because I do hate that jingoism. I think we’ve seen the ugly, horrible side of that in Brexit, and it’s a real shame.”
Beyond any flag-shagging connotations, the Britpop movement contrived relatively disparate artists unfairly into one pigeonhole. In the true spirit of pop music, the media sought to file off any rough edges, homogenising the artists and detracting from their crucial idiosyncrasies. When the 1990s finally took a bow, Cocker emerged, if not the richest, the most dignified and universally venerated of the era’s vocalists.
Although Pulp benefited from Britpop marketing, they never indulged it, remaining loyal to their artistic image of social justice and nuanced style. If any singular event could summarise Cocker’s simultaneously good-humoured and unabashedly forthright personality, it was the 1996 Brit Awards ceremony.
On a night that has been forged irrevocably in the history books, Cocker jumped on stage during Michael Jackson’s performance of ‘Earth Song’, presenting his arse to the audience in bold protest. A few months later, Cocker explained his antics during an interview with Chris Evans on TFI Friday. “I was just sat there and watching it and feeling a bit ill ’cause he’s there doing his Jesus act,” he said. “And I could kind of see – It seemed to me there was a lot of other people who kind of found it distasteful as well, and I just thought: ‘The stage is there, I’m here, and you can actually just do something about it and say this is a load of rubbish if you wanted.'”
Moving into the new millennium, Cocker’s passion for cinema was brought to the fore in a collaborative friendship with the esteemed American filmmaker Wes Anderson. The Pulp frontman has provided soundtracks and taken on small acting roles in some of the director’s most beloved movies, including Fantastic Mr. Fox, The French Dispatch and Asteroid City.
Cocker’s roots now spread far and wide, beyond the increasingly suffocating confines of the modern music industry. Above all, though, he will be remembered generations from now as a uniquely gifted lyricist who could waltz seamlessly between the mundane and the profound, delivering each word with a quintessentially British blend of wit, sarcasm and vulnerability.
A consummate turn-of-the-century artist, Cocker has never shied from the gritty truths of life; instead, he’s embraced them, transforming everyday observations into poetic narratives that resonate profoundly with generations, young and old, independent of any media-conjured labels.
Accompanying the lyrics is a befittingly lanky frame, a dishevelled crop of hair, and a pair of tinted geek-chic shades – an unassuming presence instantly endeared to audiences worldwide. Cocker has never been, like Michael Jackson, an untouchable messiah on stage; instead, he’s the mirror through which his audience can see themselves. He moves to the music with an awkward elegance, a self-deprecating display that captures the heart of anyone who’s ever felt out of place.
Today, Cocker remains a refuge of respite and a defiant role model for budding talent in an era of manufactured pop stars and contrived images.
