Jarvis Cocker and I go way back, it would seem, writes Dan Wainwright.

At last night’s gig at the Birmingham Academy the 45-year-old, sporting a new beard that he says makes him look like The Yorkshire Ripper, told how when he was Pulp’s frontman at a concert at the NEC he had had one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

It concerned a big finale in which he would release a net of balloons over the crowd. Sadly he had a net malfunction and only one pathetic black balloon fell to the floor.

I was at that gig. It was almost 10 years ago to the day and I was 17. As I heard that anecdote I sent a text to the girl I went with to share a bit of nostalgia. We don’t really talk anymore. It’s my fault.

That concert had been one of my life-defining moments. It was the first big event I had been to and paid for with my own money from a part time job waiting tables at Molineux.

Cocker’s songs have been, as corny as it is, the soundtrack of my life. Hits like Misshapes and Babies reflected the gawky, awkward teenager I wished I wasn’t. I once sang Disco 2000 at an open mic night when I was on a study year in France and a Frenchman, who had never heard of Pulp, thought I had written it, came up to me and said I should record it.

Jarvis’s more recent C-word laden Running The World presents a view I share of political systems and companies that have put profit before people and dismantled the British working class in favour of cheap overseas products.

It’s not to everyone’s taste of course, hence the rather poor turnout at the Academy which saw the entire balcony area closed off. It’s a far cry from the days when Pulp filled massive venues like the NEC and headlined at Glastonbury but I get the feeling Jarvis isn’t that fussed, he’s just doing what he likes.

Cocker’s beard, combined with his scrawny frame and indescribably manic dancing made him look like a physics lecturer at the end of term disco who has only just discovered alcohol. He even had a pointy stick and a slideshow of pictures of Birmingham to put a personal touch on things.

Songs such as Fat Children, a brilliantly angry piece about modern yobs and non-existent policing, from his 2006 album were backed up with plenty of new material which left me hungry for his next record.

My old friend texted me back. She didn’t remember ever going to see Pulp at the NEC.