Pulp may shy away from anything pre-Intro: The Gift Recordings, but there is much to love about their first three albums. Separations, particularly, has a run of songs which can rival their very best days. The likes of Death II, Love is Blind, and My Legendary Girlfriend are marvellous moments from the band, an energetic sound and writing style which would form the core of their greatest hits. Countdown is likely the best of all from these early years, before the band would slide themselves onto the charts with Lipgloss. Wildly different sounds are on offer from this Separations single and the build towards His ‘n’ Hers, but it’s a necessary listen for those wondering how a song like Razzmatazz slipped through the cracks and onto a compilation. Countdown is not just a song for historical context. It’s a classic and one of the earliest examples of Pulp with a confident song unique to the scene.
Which version, though? A slower tempo remaster or the upbeat original. That latter is likely better. It has room for some heightened drama and the Europop influence, the shimmering sounds which back a magnificent guitar solo work brilliantly. An eight-minute version of Countdown separate from these two is also a neat touch, a fascinating elongation which, for all its instrumental thrills, is a bit of a stinker when you realise the voice at the end is Rolf Harris. Still, it doesn’t detract from what is a quality version of the song, a release which is double the length of the original. The core of all three versions is the same. A fear of wasting time and a desire to leave your hometown. It’s a Bruce Springsteen song at its core, then, the hyper specifics informing a larger-than-life decision. That much would appear on Love is Blind thanks to some monumental writing from Jarvis Cocker.
Separations is home to many of his best songs from the pre-fame era. Countdown feels similar to Love is Blind, not in tempo or tone, but in its attitude to the city of Sheffield. That reflection on hometown woes and what to do about them is a driving force which would be chipped away at over the next two albums, informing the likes of Joyriders and She’s a Lady. Crucial to Countdown, like all the best Pulp songs, is a lived-in appeal. These topics are relatable because they are true. Or close to truth, anyway. Magnificent instrumentals and the worrisome feel captured by the song is a reflection of the lyrics and those feelings of desperation in a city that does its inhabitants no favours. That is not a Sheffield problem, that’s a country-wide struggle. It’s what makes Pulp’s early works, and their most recent offerings, relatable.
That “never, ever leave this room” and the “wasting all my time” take on a new form in the modern world. Are those bedroom dwellers wasting their time in the same way as those who were actively against the community around them were? No. It has gotten much worse for those who are stuck online. Countdown could not have predicted that boom of online engagement, but the critique continues for this Cocker song. It has moved outside of its sphere of influence and into another category, as all great songs can. It’s as memorable as Common People and as inspiring, too. The only major difference is the darker tone, the post-punk strokes still paint Pulp as a band of counterculture with edge. They would shave that off just a little but keep the rest of their feelings on the world, as expressed so cooly here, intact.
