Pulp. Pulp look about five years older than when I saw them a year ago and they're much better, great in fact. They remind me of Big In Japan (remember Big In Japan? If anyone's got a copy of their EP they want to part with let me know), The Dole, I'm So Hollow, Cult Figures, Soft Boys and a million garage punk/ pop bands with a touch of sixties weirdness in the hearts and guitars. The sin­ger wins my nomination for any snappy dresser of the month award going, psychedelically tasteless in faded pink trousers, pukey green shirt, suede jacket, glasses and dorky non-hairdo, and they deserve credit for trying to stir interest among usually apathetic audiences. After all, when a group stick something like a cross between a dunces cap and a multicolour cardboard KKK mask over their heads one tends to sit up and ask why? Not to mention the dancers, two girls in black, complete with veils, who would undoubtedly be in the Human League now if they'd been down at the Crazy Daizy on the right night. The dramatic impression was spoiled somewhat when one of them fell off the stage and I never did discover why they were carrying toilet rolls (unless they were just nicking them from the pub), but it all contributed to the sense of occasion.