Rachel Chinouriri: The Successor to Jarvis Cocker You Didn’t Expect

When you think of Jarvis Cocker, you likely think of someone who’s mastered the art of blending raw emotion, ironic humour, and sharp social observations into the kind of music that stays with you, long after the song’s over. As the frontman of Pulp, Jarvis became the voice of a generation, capturing the messy complexities of life and relationships, and doing so with a wink and a sardonic smile. His songs felt like confessions, but also like invitations to laugh at the absurdity of it all. There was always vulnerability in his voice, but there was also a kind of detachment, a knowing distance that made his songs feel both personal and universal.

So, when I first heard Rachel Chinouriri, I didn’t expect to find an artist who felt like the natural successor to Jarvis Cocker—but after spending some time with her music, I can’t help but think that she is. Rachel isn’t just another fresh-faced artist on the scene; her work speaks to the same complexities of human relationships, emotional rawness, and self-deprecating humour that Jarvis became known for. She’s carving her own space, and it’s one where heartache and hope coexist in the same breath, not so different from the stories told in Pulp’s heyday.

The comparison isn’t immediately obvious, of course. Rachel doesn’t sound like Pulp, and her music isn’t quite as overtly ironic. But there’s something about the emotional depth and the rawness of her lyrics that brings me back to that same feeling I had the first time I heard Pulp—this sense that she gets it, that she’s been where we’ve all been, and she has a way of expressing it that feels both personal and universally relatable.

Rachel’s music captures that same vulnerability—the way Jarvis Cocker explored the painful bits of life with wit and humour, allowing the listener to feel like they’re not alone in their experience. It’s a skill Rachel wields effortlessly in songs like “Garden of Eden” and “My Blood”. In both, she tackles self-doubt, letting go, and heartbreak, but always with this feeling that she’s not trying to play the victim. She’s not wallowing in the pain—she’s confronting it with this quiet, almost cheeky resolve that makes her music feel real.

That’s what really ties Rachel to Jarvis, in my opinion. It’s not about musical style or even the tone of their voices; it’s about their ability to turn personal struggles into universal truths and somehow make those struggles feel lighter without losing any of their weight. “Garden of Eden”, for example, is a perfect embodiment of this. It’s a song about letting go, but with that mix of emotional depth and unexpected humour. The song might leave you with a bittersweet sense of peace, but it’s the final line that gives you permission to smile, reminding you not to take everything so seriously.

And let’s be real: that’s exactly what Pulp did, right? There’s always that dark humour behind Jarvis Cocker’s lyrics, the way he could make you feel like you were wallowing in your own emotions, but still find a way to laugh at yourself for doing it. Rachel has that same ability to hold space for heavy emotional moments while also acknowledging the absurdity of it all. It’s this balance that makes her music feel so grounded and approachable.

It’s easy to see why people might think of Paolo Nutini or Amy Winehouse when comparing Rachel’s style. Both artists manage to channel intense emotion without it ever feeling overwrought. But where Rachel really stands out is in her ability to infuse self-deprecating humour into these moments of rawness. And in doing so, she’s establishing herself as an artist who knows that, while life is often difficult, it’s important not to get too lost in it.

One of the things that makes Rachel’s work so appealing is her honesty—her lyrics aren’t afraid to tackle themes like self-doubt, fear of change, and heartbreak. But rather than wallow in those feelings, she invites us to sit with them for a moment, and then lets us off the hook with her subtle humour. This approach is something that Pulp did with such mastery, and Rachel is doing it in her own way.

Take her song “My Blood” as another example. It’s a track about emotional turmoil, but the way Rachel writes it isn’t the typical “woe is me” approach. Instead, it’s a more matter-of-fact exploration of pain. The song’s honesty is part of what makes it so relatable—it’s not over-dramatised. She’s simply saying, “This is how it is for me right now.” But the way she delivers it allows you to feel the weight of her words without letting it crush you.

And that’s the thing about Rachel’s music—it never feels like it’s asking for pity. Even in moments of intense emotional reflection, there’s a sense of self-awareness that keeps everything in perspective. She’s reminding you that life is hard, sure, but it’s also full of moments where you can laugh at the chaos, or find joy in the mess. It’s a balance that comes across clearly in tracks like “So My Darling,” where the vulnerability of the song’s lyrics is tempered with a sense of humour. It’s a song about connection, not just with a partner, but with the kind of relationships that hold you up, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

This ability to combine emotional depth with irony and humour is a rare gift, and it’s what makes Rachel feel like the kind of artist who could follow in Jarvis Cocker’s footsteps, even if we didn’t expect it. It’s a gift that keeps the listener rooted in the present while still allowing them to reflect on their past. Much like Pulp, Rachel’s music isn’t just about the songs—it’s about the stories she’s telling, the way she’s speaking to you like a close friend who’s been through it all and knows exactly what to say.

So where does that leave Rachel in the landscape of modern music? She’s not trying to be the next Pulp, and she’s certainly not chasing trends. What she’s doing is carving out her own niche, one that feels less like an attempt to mimic Jarvis and more like an evolution of the emotional honesty he perfected. In this age of social media overexposure, Rachel’s ability to stay grounded in her truth feels refreshing. She’s not chasing TikTok fame or trying to be the latest pop sensation; she’s simply telling her story in a way that feels authentic, real, and ultimately, timeless.

Much like Pulp, Rachel Chinouriri is speaking to something deeper than the surface-level moments we often find ourselves caught in. She’s creating a space for us to reflect, to laugh, and to let go—without the pressure of having it all figured out. And in doing so, she’s becoming an artist who’s speaking to a generation, in much the same way that Jarvis Cocker did all those years ago.