the other JC… no, the OTHER other one

Many of us remember Jarvis Cocker’s stage-storm in 1996 (and if you don’t, you should youtube it). Many of us placed a mental check-mark next to this inci­dent, and sub­se­quently many of us used the name “Jarvis” as a name for a char­acter in one of our badly written pieces of juve­nile vam­pire fic­tion because we wanted our char­ac­ters to have that kind of self-assured pres­ence (an exer­cise in futility). Well, ffwd ten years, and we are now get­ting our master’s degrees in cre­ative writing, but the check-mark still remains. Why? Well, it would take pages and pages to answer that ques­tion, but I do think that it has some­thing to do with pomp and cir­cum­stance.

The crooning voice, the nerdy good looks. The fact that the guy fronted one of the most self-aware-about-being-awesome-and-not-afraid-to-be-elaborate-without-sucking bands of the nineties. The fact that he was in a Harry Potter movie and prob­ably didn’t feel bad about it. Or per­haps it has to do with the fact that we have spent count­less drunken hours dancing to Pulp’s “Common People” which the dee­jays at our favo(u)rite trashy night­clubs some­times had the common sense to play. Per­haps, per­haps. All anec­dote aside, I was excited for Jarvis Cocker’s new album, Jarvis, which is out in the UK in November but for which I can’t find any pur­chase links at-all.

It begins with a piano-driven clip of thirty sec­onds, which then drives straight into the guitar hook of “Don’t Let Him Waste Your Time,” a song that feels like it should have a sin­ga­long vibe to it. How­ever, although catchy, it doesn’t quite become rousing — per­haps because Jarvis never really raises his voice, no matter how much we want him to (because omg we know he can, and because it would fit so well). After this song, how­ever, it’s the very Crimson-and-Clovery “Black Magic,” which is filled with bells and whis­tles and which is pure awe­some in its histri­onics (“black MAGIIIIIIC YEAH YEAH YEEEEAAHHH”).

After Black Magic, there’s a bit of a lull. I’ll keep lis­tening because maybe these songs will grow on me, but mean­while, the song that I found sticking to my head next was the album’s sixth track, “Fat Chil­dren,” punc­tu­ated with some chug-chug guitar and a peppy kick! Drum! Yeah! And fea­turing the inex­plic­able refrain (“fat chil­dren took my life,” x4). This song is relent­less; I sug­gest you give it a listen.

• Jarvis Cocker — “Black Magic”
• Jarvis Cocker — “Fat Children”

The rest of the album rolls along as it were. I’ve made a few notes, such as that “Disney Time,” with its buildup of strings and wails, is hella creepy, and that the piano in “Big Julie” sounds bunches like the piano intro to the SP Mellon Collie album. I sup­pose I might say that Jarvis has sev­eral shining moments, but it’s not com­posed as entirely of them as I hoped it would be. But it’s still a good listen, kids.

Jarvis, I’m mad at you though. I’m mad at you for putting thirty min­utes of silence before your mar­velously sparkly secret track, which is located at the end of the sprawling “Quantum Theory” (which sprawls by itself, and not just because of the, y’know, thirty min­utes of silence — it’s also got a lovely string sec­tion). The secret track itself might be worth it, anyway — “Cunts are still run­ning the world,” indeed. I guess it’s not that secret, if you can find the song if you root around hard enough at “Jarv­space…” (Ps: you really don’t have to root that hard.) Also, it’s located & avail­able on iTunes.