The night Pulp rolled into Toronto, there was already a buzz in the air that felt different than your usual concert excitement. This wasn’t just another show—it was a resurrection, a reminder that Britpop royalty doesn’t just fade away quietly. Jarvis Cocker and company transformed History into a confessional, a disco, and a memory box all at once. Seeing Pulp in 2024, especially in such an intimate venue compared to the arenas they could easily fill, felt like something rare and precious: a gathering of believers who still understood what “Common People” meant, who still swooned at “Disco 2000,” and who knew that when Jarvis raised an eyebrow, it was always saying more than a hundred words could.
The band came ready to remind everyone that Pulp was never just about catchy singles. They were about storytelling, about grit mixed with glamour, about looking at life’s mundanity and finding both humor and tragedy in it. By the end of the night, they’d delivered a setlist that played like a time capsule but also like a sermon for the present day.
The Setlist
Main Set:
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I Spy
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Disco 2000
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O.U. (Gone, Gone)
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Something Changed
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Pink Glove
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Weeds
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Weeds II (The Origin of the Species)
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F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.
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Sorted for E’s & Wizz
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This Is Hardcore
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Do You Remember the First Time?
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Babies
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Sunrise
Encore 1:
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Like a Friend
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Underwear
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Common People
Encore 2:
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Spike Island
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Razzmatazz
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Glory Days
Act I: The Opening Sparks
The lights dimmed and a hush came over the room, the kind of silence that only comes before the first note of something people have been waiting years for. When Pulp opened with “I Spy”, the mood was immediately set: brooding, sly, and theatrical. Jarvis Cocker slinked across the stage like a noir antihero, delivering each line with his trademark mix of sarcasm and menace. It was a bold opener, not an easy singalong, but a declaration: this show wasn’t going to be a nostalgia cash-in—it was going to be a performance with teeth.
That tension gave way quickly to pure joy as the first notes of “Disco 2000” hit. The crowd erupted, arms in the air, voices shouting every word back at Jarvis. The song, once a prediction about a far-off future, now feels like a bittersweet look back, but in that room it was pure celebration. People hugged, danced, and grinned like they were at the best wedding reception of their lives.
“O.U. (Gone, Gone)” brought things a little deeper into Pulp’s catalog, with that wiry, wiry energy that only this band can pull off. Then came “Something Changed,” which turned the venue into a collective slow sway. Jarvis delivered it with tenderness, and for a moment, the dancefloor energy gave way to quiet introspection. It was a reminder that Pulp’s gift wasn’t just irony—it was heart.
Act II: The Shadows
From there, the setlist took a darker, dirtier turn. “Pink Glove” was delightfully seedy, with its mix of humor and discomfort. Jarvis seemed to relish twisting the knife of the lyrics, while the band’s groove made it impossible not to move.
Then came the one-two punch of “Weeds” and “Weeds II (The Origin of the Species).” These songs don’t get the mainstream attention that “Common People” does, but live, they carry a weight and edge that feels especially relevant in 2024. Jarvis sang them like warnings, political and personal all at once, and you could feel the audience leaning in, absorbing every line.
The room exploded with the jagged intensity of “F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.” Jarvis crouched, jumped, pointed—his lanky frame commanding the stage in that peculiar, magnetic way that only he can. The bass shook the floor, and the whole song felt like it might spiral into chaos at any moment.
“Sorted for E’s & Wizz” followed, and suddenly it was like being transported to a ‘90s festival tent. The singalong was massive, almost drowning out Jarvis himself. It was a communal moment, the kind where strangers look at each other with knowing smiles because everyone remembers—or imagines—those nights of euphoria and confusion.
Act III: The Heart of the Show
Every concert has that moment where it reaches its emotional core, and for Pulp, that came with “This Is Hardcore.” The song is a monster on record, but live, it’s devastating. Jarvis leaned into every line with a weary seduction, the lights casting long shadows across the stage. It was cinematic, decadent, and absolutely gutting. The crowd didn’t move much, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the spell.
From there, Jarvis broke the tension with the playful nostalgia of “Do You Remember the First Time?” The room lit up, the audience clapping along, voices soaring. It was a perfect contrast, the band showing their mastery in moving from despair to giddy joy within moments.
Then came “Babies,” which may be one of the most perfect songs Pulp ever wrote. The infectious energy of the track had everyone dancing again, singing every line like their lives depended on it. Jarvis leaned into the mischievousness of the story, making it feel like he was confessing directly to the crowd.
Closing the main set with “Sunrise” was a stroke of genius. The slow build, the gradual layering, and the eventual explosion into light and sound left the room breathless. It was both an ending and a promise—like they’d burned everything down and left us with hope.
Act IV: The Encores
The first encore began with “Like a Friend,” a song that’s always felt criminally underrated. The live version had a grit and punch that elevated it, and it gave fans who discovered it via Great Expectations their shining moment.
Then Jarvis slowed things down with “Underwear.” The intimacy of that song in a venue like History was something to behold. It felt like he was singing it to each person individually, making the room shrink to the size of a bedroom.
And then, of course, came “Common People.” What can you even say about that song at this point? It’s an anthem, a battle cry, a piece of living history. From the first chords, the place absolutely erupted. Everyone sang, shouted, screamed. The balcony was shaking. Jarvis conducted the crowd like a preacher, holding the mic out and letting thousands of voices carry the weight of the chorus. It was catharsis, pure and simple.
But Pulp wasn’t done.
For the second encore, they surprised with “Spike Island,” a rarity that longtime fans absolutely lost their minds over. Then came “Razzmatazz,” which hit with a sneering energy, Jarvis spitting out the words with delicious venom. It felt raw, jagged, alive.
They closed the night with “Glory Days,” which couldn’t have been a more fitting ending. It was triumphant, wistful, and celebratory all at once. The band took their bows to rapturous applause, Jarvis giving his final wave like a magician disappearing back behind the curtain.
The Performance
What made the night unforgettable wasn’t just the setlist—it was the way Pulp inhabited these songs. Jarvis Cocker remains one of rock’s most compelling frontmen. He doesn’t need pyrotechnics or costume changes; his body language, his delivery, his sly humor—they’re enough to hold an audience in rapture. Every eyebrow raise, every pointed finger, every sudden crouch or leap carried weight.
The band themselves were tight, locked in, and clearly enjoying the moment. Russell Senior’s presence was missed, sure, but the group has evolved to carry on without losing the essence of what makes Pulp Pulp. The arrangements were faithful but fresh, songs from decades past sounding both classic and urgent.
The visuals were minimal compared to some modern productions, but they didn’t need more. Clever lighting and video projections amplified the mood without distracting from the performance.
Final Thoughts
Walking out of History that night, you could feel the afterglow lingering in the crowd. People were buzzing, some in disbelief that they’d actually just witnessed Pulp in Toronto in 2024. The band didn’t just play the hits—they delivered a masterclass in how to make old songs feel alive, relevant, and necessary.
For longtime fans, it was validation that Pulp’s music still matters. For newer fans, it was a revelation. And for everyone there, it was proof that some bands don’t just age gracefully—they age defiantly, holding a mirror up to the world and saying, “See? This is still who we are.”
Pulp at History wasn’t about looking back. It was about reminding us why these songs, these stories, and this band remain vital. And if you were there, you’ll probably be telling people about it for years to come.