Walking into the O2 felt like stepping into a time machine, but one with much better lighting and fewer questionable hair decisions. The crowd was a glorious mix—people who remember buying Different Class on cassette, and kids who discovered “Common People” on TikTok. It was a beautiful, no-judgment zone. The energy was buzzing, like everyone was holding in a secret that was about to explode.
And then the lights went down. The opening synth notes of “I Spy” started to creep in, and I swear my heart did a little skip. People were already screaming, and the band hadn’t even taken the stage yet. It was the kind of anticipation that makes you giggle nervously, like waiting for a really exciting birthday present.
Jarvis Cocker: The Eternal Poet of the Awkward
Then he appeared. Jarvis Cocker, still all lanky limbs and deadpan genius, walked out like he owned the place—which, for the next two hours, he absolutely did. He didn’t even need to say anything; the roar of the crowd was enough to shake the entire arena. When he finally spoke, it was pure Jarvis: “Hello London. We’re Pulp. It’s been a while.” Just like that, we were all wrapped around his finger.
He prowled the stage like a heron having a existential crisis, all angles and charisma. And the banter? Oh, the banter was top-tier. At one point, he commented on a fan’s sign that said “You’re the best dance partner,” and he replied, “I’m flattered, but I’m not sure my hips can handle the pressure tonight.” He then proceeded to prove his hips could, in fact, handle everything.
