The Britpop legends announce a six arena concerts across the UK and Ireland for June 2025, with tickets going on sale this month.

Crucially, Pulp approached these concerts with the same art-school flair that made them icons. In one section, Jarvis emerged in silhouette against a giant projected moon, his lanky limbs contorting into shapes that announced immediately: the showman was back. The stage design, the lighting, and even Jarvis’s famous vintage suits all nod to an aesthetic continuity from the band’s heyday. There’s a sense that Pulp are curating an experience, not just playing songs. And they’re having fun with it. During a triumphant gig in London, Jarvis cheekily offered a box of Milk Tray chocolates to the front row (“Don’t take sweets from strangers, kids… unless it’s me,” he quipped), embodying that mix of gallantry and sly humour fans adore. They’re all moments that make the shows feel intimate despite the large venues – classic Jarvis, blurring the line between a rock concert and a piece of performance art about a rock concert.

If anyone worried that age might have mellowed Jarvis Cocker, they likely haven’t seen him wind his hips to the filthy groove of ‘This Is Hardcore’, or pogo with giddy abandon during ‘Mis-Shapes’. Even in his later period, Jarvis has fully embraced his role as the irresponsible adult leading the party​. It’s a perfect job for him: at 61, Cocker is greying and bespectacled, but he commands the stage with the energy of a man half his age and the wisdom of one twice it. Between songs, he’s a raconteur – spinning wry observations about whatever town he’s in (“I had a lovely walk around the park here. No dog poo on the path – you lot are posher than you let on!”) and philosophising on the passage of time.

Vocally, Cocker’s baritone is still singular – perhaps a touch deeper, roughened by time, but when he half-speaks, half-sings a line like “I want to sleep with common people like you,” it raises goosebumps as reliably as ever. The rest of Pulp are no slouches either. Candida Doyle’s keyboards still layer on that melodrama and atmosphere; Mark Webber’s guitar shifts from jagged riffs to lush chords, whichever the song requires. They’ve subtly updated arrangements in places – a bit of extended vamping here, a funkier breakdown there – allowing the band to play with the material and stretch out, rather than simply hitting play on a 90s jukebox. The balance of mass sing-alongs and darker moments in the setlist is finely tuned, too​. A stomping ‘Common People’, still every bit the euphoric anthem it was in ’95, might be followed by the shadowy cabaret of ‘I Spy’. One minute the crowd is jumping in unison; the next they’re rapt and silent as Jarvis whispers a lyric about loneliness or envy. It’s a dynamic range that demonstrates that Pulp’s reunion isn’t just a feel-good exercise – it’s also a showcase of the band’s artistry and contrast, from pop to noir, often in the same song.

So, yes, Pulp’s reunion tour is undeniably steeped in nostalgia, but the band don’t hide that. These concerts have also taken on a meaning beyond reminiscence. In a time when UK pop culture is obsessed with revival (from Britpop bands to Y2K fashions), Pulp’s return could have been just another retro reboot. Instead, it feels like a genuine dialogue between past and present. The songs speak to current realities: hearing thousands sing “you’ll never watch your life slide out of view / and dance and drink and screw / because there’s nothing else to do” still hits home in 2025, an era of economic uncertainty and social media escapism. Lines that once satirized mid-90s class tourism now garner knowing, even bittersweet, cheers from young fans facing their own version of that story with rising rents and gig jobs. Pulp always captured the voice of the outsider looking in, and that voice is as vital as ever.

Moreover, the reunion has provided a moment of closure and celebration for the band and fans alike. There’s a subtle catharsis in these shows. Back in the 2000s, Pulp’s breakup felt like a book with an abrupt ending. Now the final chapters are being written live, in communal real-time. Watching Pulp on stage in 2025, it’s hard to sneer – the sense of reclaiming a legacy is palpable. Not by rebranding or modernizing it but by performing it with love and vigour, reminding us what made it great. Fans, in turn, reclaim a piece of their youth or discover that their parents’ favourite band speaks to them, too. It’s a victory lap for a generation but also a hand-off to the next.

Pulp’s decision to sign with Rough Trade, announced in late 2024, might just be the most telling move of their reunion so far. The label has a storied history of championing outsider voices, and for a band whose career has been defined by social commentary and class-conscious lyrics, it feels like an oddly perfect match - unsurprising given a 30-year-long relationship on a management front previously. This is the same company that nurtured everyone from The Smiths to The Strokes, so the fact that Pulp chose Rough Trade rather than a major, speaks volumes about how they see their current place in British music. Emphasis on current.

The million-pound question, of course, is whether there will be new Pulp music to slot alongside the classics that have defined their sets since the 90s. In a Q&A posted on the band’s official site in January 2025, guitarist Mark Webber hinted strongly that new material is not just a vague notion. “There are definitely songs taking shape,” he wrote. “But we want to make sure any new music feels like it belongs to the Pulp story, rather than an afterthought.”

Sceptics might worry that new tracks could never stand alongside ‘Common People’ or ‘Disco 2000’. Yet one look at Pulp’s last few shows suggests the band isn’t short on fresh ideas. During the London date in December, a brooding cut - rumoured to be called ‘Hymn of the North’ - provided a sharp counterpoint to the celebratory atmosphere. Jarvis Cocker delivered a wistful vocal that felt unmistakably Pulp: part social critique, part personal confessional, with a splash of sly humour for good measure.

If those hints are anything to go by, we might be in for something more substantial than a token studio single. Rough Trade’s reputation, coupled with the band’s renewed sense of purpose, almost guarantees we won’t get a half-baked encore of old hits. Instead, it could be exactly what fans suspect: a next chapter that amplifies Pulp’s singular voice in a Britain still grappling with social divides and cultural uncertainty.

Where does that leave the band creatively? No one’s spoiling the surprise, but the Rough Trade signing makes a statement: Pulp might still have something urgent to say. Instead of chasing commercial nostalgia, they’re siding with a label that understands the power of outsider art. After decades of on-and-off existence, it’s that insistence on retaining creative autonomy that’s kept Pulp’s legacy intact—and might just propel them into a new phase of musical relevance. A new run of live dates only suggests even more strongly that something is coming, and perhaps soon.

This reunion hasn’t ever been mere hagiography. Pulp’s 2025 reunion tour isn’t just an exercise in nostalgia; it’s a vibrant argument for the enduring relevance of one of Britain’s quirkiest bands. It answers that initial question emphatically: This is what you do for an encore – you come back and play your heart out. You dance, you celebrate the old times in the here and now, and you prove that great music and sharp wit never go out of style. Pulp have done exactly that, and the noise of appreciation from the crowd – old fans and new – has been more than loud enough to bring them back again, anytime.