Jarvis Cocker

There are singers, there are rock stars and then there is Jarvis Cocker; a one-time patron saint of the outcast and a man who rightfully deserves the title of 'national treasure'. Compared to his Britpop peers, Cocker is aging well (we’d be shocked to see him sporting something as uncouth as a beer belly). He also still refuses to dust off any numbers from his Pulp heyday, even though it’s clear that the mass gathered before him is hungry for it. Previous encounters with a live solo Jarvis showcased a singer who’d lost none of his trademark wit and stage flair. Tonight, though, is a different story. His thin hips still have that same swagger and the banter flows out in a steady stream between songs, yet much of it rings hollow, leaving us to wonder whether Cocker is simply having an off night or if perhaps going through the motions is all he has left. And yet, even on auto-pilot, Cocker doesn’t fail to entertain. It’s just a shame he’s not hitting the heights we know he’s capable of reaching.

Doran: "Fuck me. Sharin's only a Cylon."