Pulp's latest album is proof that fame can go to your head ... and

leave you with one hell of a headache.

Many things have changed in the three years since Pulp released

their

best-selling album to date, Different Class, the album that made

them major U.K. stars. Yes, there was

the

Michael Jackson incident at the Brit Awards. And the fact that

frontman

Jarvis Cocker's scrawny but sexy body has been featured in most

major

American music magazines (although the group has yet to sell many albums

here), not to mention the attention that he

received in

his native England. But success did something

else to the band's lyricist -- it aged him.

The marked difference in Cocker's songs -- and even in the way he

delivers

them -- is a bit frightening at first. Particularly if you've gotten

used

to the intelligent-but-outcast,

attractive-but-lacking-confidence-so-still-watching-others-have-

the-sex-you-

want lyrics and the alternately breathy or tongue-in-cheeky vocals

that

Cocker laid down on Different Class. You'd think that three

years

of finally being in the "in crowd" would have inspired Cocker to

write more

witty, revealing songs in the vein of "Common People" and "Sorted

For E's

And Wizz." But Cocker has abandoned his position as the leader of

the

"Mis-Shapes ... mistakes, misfits" (Different Class' opener), an

image that he had cultivated throughout his band's history (which

dates back to 1978 in the

burnt-out Northern England city of Sheffield).

Longtime Pulp fans undoubtedly will find This Is Hardcore a

bit

difficult to digest upon the first few listens. The danceable pop of

Different Class and its predecessor, His 'N' Hers, has

vanished, replaced by music that alternates between darker,

more

serious melodies and (at the other end of the spectrum) glam-tinged

tunes

with the jaded vocals and lyrics of an older, wiser Cocker.

Clocking in at just over an hour, This Is Hardcore finds Cocker

dealing with living, aging and the thought of dying, with some

disconcertingly downcast and tired near-condemnations of partying,

sex and

keeping up appearances. Even though longtime

guitarist/violinist/songwriter Russell Senior left the band before

recording for its sixth album began, Pulp have progressed musically

and, as

usual, their sound is retro-influenced yet ahead of its time.

The somber, haunted tones and droning guitar of This Is

Hardcore's

opener, "The Fear," could be coming from a shuttered but possessed

Fun

House the day after the carnival's ended. But it's not that kind

of fear that Cocker sings about; this is " 'Music from a Bachelor's

Den'

-- the sound of loneliness turned up to ten/ A horror soundtrack

from a

stagnant water-bed." The swelling crescendo of voices and the eerie

tune

grow on you, and the album's initial shocker actually stands out as

one of

the best of the album's 13 songs.

Perhaps most startling are "This Is Hardcore" and the

eight-and-one-half-minute epic "Seductive Barry."

From the opening lyrics, "You are hardcore, you make me hard,"

there's no

doubt that this is going to be another one of Cocker's songs about

sexual

memoirs, whether they be real-life experiences or overblown

daydreams. But

instead of the whispered naughtiness of "I Spy" and

"F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.," sex is reduced to a mechanical

routine befitting a skin flick on the title track: "Oh that goes in

there/

Then that goes in there/ Then that goes in there/ & then it's over."

The

lyrics are equally unimaginative in "Seductive Barry," an

overwrought

sexcapade that features Neneh Cherry's guest vocals (and moans)

with

Cocker's robotic, monotonous recitation of "Don't stop it now/ Now

is so

right." Surprisingly similar in theme and music, these two songs

stand out

as Cocker's most distinct departure from his sex-obsessed ways; no

longer wide-eyed and yearning to get in on the action, Cocker's voice

is as seedy and indifferent as the album's cover art -- a topless

woman overmade up to resemble a sex doll.

"Dishes" starts out with the auspicious lyrics "I am not Jesus though

I

have the same initials -- I am the man who stays home and does the

dishes."

But the song's promise of wit and irony goes unfulfilled as it swiftly

lapses into such unoriginal commonplace as "I'd like to make this

water

wine but it's impossible/ I've got to get these dishes dry." In the

overwhelmingly mundane lyrics of a song about a monotonous daily

task,

Cocker comes his closest ever to flirting with religious themes, and

in the

end he seems to lament but accept that "the earth is where we are."

On "Glory Days" Cocker fancies himself a glam star, and it's one of

the few songs on the

album that you can imagine him writhing around to in all his gangly

splendor. Cocker practically challenges the Thin White Duke for his

title

in the glam-aurous "Party Hard," a further comedown from the "E's

And Whiz"

that finds Cocker philosophizing: "Why do we have to half kill

ourselves

just to prove we're alive?"

The only songs that remotely resemble Different Class are

"I'm A

Man" and "Help The Aged," which was released well in advance of

the album as This Is Hardcore's first U.K. single. These two

songs are the most poppy, with Cocker's voice coming across strong

and clear.

The CD's natural conclusion would seem to be "The Day After The

Revolution"

-- with Cocker uttering "It's over, bye-bye" -- but the strangely

charming,

catchy "Like A Friend" is tacked on as track 13. The album's first

American single -- it's also featured on the Great

Expectations

soundtrack -- "Like A Friend" starts off acoustic and slowly speeds

up,

gaining momentum and instrumentation with Cocker reciting an

amusing list

of metaphors such as "You are the last drink I never should have

drunk/ You

are the body hidden in the trunk/ You are the cut that makes me hide

my

face/ You are the party that makes me feel my age."

In the end, you'll probably miss the old, er, younger Cocker, but you'll

eventually realize that you can't stop yourself from listening to

This

Is Hardcore, in all its glam-schlock brilliance. The sex was stale,

you're battling a pharmaceutically triggered yet pharmaceutically

untouchable hangover and it's as aggravating as the incredibly bright

sunshine that's streaming into your bleary eyes -- it's painful at

first,

but you just can't stop yourself from doing it again and again.