Review

After a 24 year hiatus that left fans wondering if Sheffield's finest would ever grace us with their presence again, Pulp have returned with *More*, an album that feels both like a natural continuation and a bold reinvention of their singular brand of British pop sophistication. From the opening moments, it's clear that Jarvis Cocker's distinctive voice has lost none of its theatrical power or emotional range. His delivery remains as compelling as ever—part crooner, part social commentator, all magnetic frontman. The band, reunited in their classic lineup, slip back into their groove with remarkable ease, as if the intervening years were merely an extended tea break. *More* finds Pulp in a reflective mood, grappling with themes of ageing, memory, and the passage of time with characteristic wit and melancholy. The songwriting retains that perfect balance of the profound and the mundane that made albums like *Different Class* so essential. These are songs that can make you laugh and cry within the same verse, a rare gift that few bands possess. Musically, the album draws from the band's entire catalogue while pushing into new territory. There are echoes of their early post-punk experimentalism alongside the lush orchestration that marked their mid-90s peak. The production is crisp without being sterile, allowing space for both intimate moments and soaring crescendos. What's most striking about *More* is how it avoids the pitfall of nostalgia that ensnares many reunion albums. Rather than attempting to recapture their youth, Pulp have made an album that acknowledges where they've been while remaining curious about where they're going. It's the work of a band that understands their legacy but refuses to be imprisoned by it. *More* may not revolutionise British music the way *His 'n' Hers* did three decades ago, but it confirms that Pulp remain one of our most essential bands—older, perhaps wiser, but no less essential.

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