Image Credit: Karen Robinson
From the outset, I thought of Pulp’s music in literary terms, with its references to “lemonade light filtering through the trees” and “the puddles of rain that reflected your face in my eyes”, and, as the best art does, it changed the way I watched the world and the vocabulary with which I thought about it. From the lyrics, and from the biography I gleaned from press interviews, I thought I’d found a kindred spirit: a speccy so-and-so who knew what it meant to wear the wrong clothes and listen to the wrong music and be caught in the school library reading the dictionary.
Source: Guardian
