About two thirds of the way through the night someone yells out a request for Common People . It was bound to happen. There are probably more than a handful of people here in their 30s who have rocked up for an hours spin behind the Britpop wheel; an opportunity to relive that short period of time in the 90s’ when Britannia ruled the (cool) waves and Pulp were amongst the doyenne of England’s rock ruling class. But Britpop withered and died over a decade ago. We’ve all moved on, so there’s no reason why we should expect (or even want) to preserve Jarvis Cocker in a mid 90s’ time-warp so he can trot out Disco 2000 for those who need to be reminded of a time when they didn’t have grown-up stuff to worry about.

To be fair, when Jarvis Cocker strides on stage all spidery legged and thick Yorkshire brogue it’s almost hard to believe that he’ll open with anything but Disco 2000. There’re the familiar angular moves and desert dry humour, plus Pulp’s Steve Mackey joins him on bass. So is it too much to ask, when you’ve shelled out $60, for Cocker to indulge us with a bit of Sorted For E’s and Whizz?

Absolutely. Why? Because the punkish Fat Children has Jarvis careering across the stage like a man half his age singing about being murdered by rotund underage thugs. Because Don’t Let Him Waste Your Time is an unashamedly addictive slice of 60s’ pop that warns against skinny bitches in hot-pants and because Cocker tackles Big Julie’s struggle with genuine hard-rung pathos. He’s clambering over amps, swivelling his hips in that half sexy half perverse way that might get him arrested if he did the same out on George St, and beguiling the audience with quips about this, that and the other. He’s so engaging even the lighting seems desperate to impress him as it chops and changes its form to find just the right mood to dress the heavy strangeness of_ Disneytime_ and A to I’s wry perceptions of everyday racism.

So, what’s particularly surprising about the request for Pulp’s ubiquitous hit is that it comes after Cocker has emphatically earned the right not to be asked to play it. Maybe there’d be a case to argue if his solo material was nothing more than a vanity project that sated a long held itch of his, but fell well short of Different Class. The thing is Jarvis (his self-titled debut) stands up against anything that Pulp produced so there really is no need to be looking back.

But it’s ok, Jarvis Cocker has a trump card yet to play in his bid to finally prise himself apart from his former legacy. After a stunning take on Bruce Springsteen’s State Trooper, Cocker introduces a song that reflects his discord with those in positions of power. Within sixty seconds a thousand strong audience has it hands in air joining Jarvis in proclaiming that “cunts are still ruling the world”.

Pulp? Who?