Jarvis Cocker Reveals His Top 1990s Song and the Story Behind Pulp's Iconic Britpop Era

How Jarvis Cocker Found His 1990s Voice in Britpop

The 1990s weren’t just another decade for British music—they were a full-blown takeover. You could feel it in the air as Oasis swaggered onto stages and Blur clashed with them over the charts. Yet, off to the side but never out of sight, Pulp and their frontman Jarvis Cocker carved out a look and sound all their own. When he gets asked to pick his favourite song from the decade, Cocker’s answer tells you as much about the cultural mood as it does about the music.

Jarvis started Pulp back when most kids were barely out of braces, in the late 1970s, right as punk was ripping up old rulebooks. Punk was raw and wild, but Cocker was already dreaming about something else: songs that stuck with you, tunes you could hum, lyrics you’d remember. For him, pop wasn’t a dirty word. He was meticulously building a band aesthetic, from the band's spindly praying mantis logo to his now-famous secondhand suits—outfits picked not for expense but for attitude.

Fast-forward to the 1990s. Suddenly, music magazines and club dance floors were buzzing around the word “Britpop.” But if you showed up at a Pulp gig back then, you’d see a different side of the scene: crowds in mismatched, thrift shop clothes, beer in hand, shouting lyrics that felt like social commentary and private jokes all at once. Cocker once described the era as “a bunch of people in secondhand clothes getting wasted”—not polished, not posh, just themselves.

Beneath the Cool: Pulp’s Pop Songcraft and Cultural Impact

Other Britpop bands might’ve leaned into mod fashion or rock clichés, but Cocker wanted more than nostalgia. He wanted details. “Common People,” for example, became a massive anthem not just because of its melody—though it’s catchy enough to survive generations of club DJs—but because it poked at class, aspirations, and everyday British boredom. It captured a voice that felt totally 90s: bored, bright, ironic, and always ready to dance.

• Pulp’s slow rise meant they’d seen scenes come and go, surviving the 80s indie gloom and the onslaught of dance music. Their patience paid off as 1990s mainstream tastes finally swung their way.
• Their look was as important as their sound—outfits snagged from charity shops, mismatched on purpose, meant to challenge the record label polish of pop.
• Cocker wrote about stuff nobody else was really touching: what it feels like to grow up on the edge of cool, the weirdness of adulthood, the messiness of everyday British life.

What made Pulp stand out wasn’t just the music but the sense of instant connection they could spark—an eye for the strange textures of daily life paired with melodies that made you want to sing (or shout) along. Cocker became a stand-in for a whole generation of awkward Brits who weren’t buying into the slick Britpop posturing but still wanted to be part of the national party.

So when Jarvis Cocker points to a song from the 90s as his favourite, he’s doing more than reminiscing. He’s capturing the weird, shabby magic of a time when being a little bit odd was finally cool.