Cell Phone & Celebrity Price Tag

I can't believe we live in a society where there is a consensus on the expression "celebrity price tag". Hello. These are two more songs for the mooted girl-band The Namedrops.

Cell Phoneis that staple of the tin pan alley/ hollywood teen experience - waiting for the telephone to ring. Blondie nailed this one of course with "Hanging on the telephone" and then, rather rudely, did it again with "Call me" . And of course there's the timeless classic "Clouds across the moon" by The Rah Band , giving the concept a much needed Sci Fi re-boot.

But I thought the time had come for another slightly duller and less inspired version. The title is, of course, a pun: the telephone has literally become a prison cell as she is waiting on a call, she is trapped and unable to function.

But obviously we're far sighted enough to have our eyes on the American market too.

Celebrity Price Tag is about my hatred of tabloid culture and the toxic overspill into other areas of life; advertising being an obvious choice. I find much of the modern world disgusting: from it's values, aspirations and cultural heroes to Ugg boots and tattoos popular entertainments. (whilst enjoying the availability of wireless-internet, disposable contact lenses and good food in pubs!)




Cell Phone

I'm in a mess
And my best party dress
I finally got into after 7 weeks
How could you go and do this
I look like a member of Kiss
My mascara running down my cheeks

O-oh oh maybe I got mixed signals
O-oh oh but you're so hard to figure
O-oh oh our date was a disaster
O-oh oh you didn’t call me after

You got me trapped like a prisoner
Hung up and alone
Waiting for your name on my cell phone, cell phone
You're on vibrate in my pocket
But you would never know
Cause I never see your name on my cell phone, cell phone

My friends all said
You'd leave me for dead
You've got a reputation follows you around
But I'm still in a state
Did i some how orchestrate
this communication break-down

O-oh oh maybe I got mixed signals
O-oh oh but you're so hard to figure
O-oh oh our date was a disaster
O-oh oh you didn’t call me after

You got me trapped like a prisoner
Hung up and alone
Waiting for your name on my cell phone, cell phone
You're on vibrate in my pocket
But you would never know
Cause I never see your name on my cell phone, cell phone

predictive text tells me next
time I'll do it all again
my phone thrown at the wall exactly as you call
tells me I've done it again

You got me trapped like a prisoner
Hung up and alone
Waiting for your name on my cell phone, cell phone
You're on vibrate in my pocket
But you would never know
Cause I never see your name on my cell phone, cell phone



Celebrity price tag

Tandooried in fake-tan
Tramp-stamp, thank you ma’am
Wicked-whispers and ugly rumours
You look like a panda drawn on a Satsuma
Leaking your sex-tapes
Selling your arsehole
Blinded by false lashes, driven by fame
Dancing up the greasy pole again and again

I don’t need the bag
Never read a fashion mag
Telling me what I should own?
I don’t think so
No celebrity price tag
No celebrity price tag no

Consumer consumptives
Presumably presumptuous
Papparazzi shoot you like they’re shooting fish
I’ve seen more culture in a Petri dish
Leaking your sex-tapes
Selling your arsehole
Blinded by false lashes, driven by fame
Dancing up the greasy pole again and again

I don’t need the bag
Never read a fashion mag
Telling me what I should own?
I don’t think so
No celebrity price tag
No celebrity price tag no

Forced to start necking the tabloidese
I feel sanatogen with these seven c’s:
Celebrity crack-den, caught out clubbing
Cancerous crotch rot, Conservative slumming
Our queen of hearts with a bun in the oven
Death by botox for the Grubb street coven

Grazia, nein danker yer wanker

I don’t need the bag
Never read a fashion mag
Telling me what I should own?
I don’t think so
No celebrity price tag
No celebrity price tag no

Endless Summer Nights

This is a song for The Namedrops , our attempt to svengali it up a bit and have a girl band. An odd move for a pair of old-skool commited feminists but we need shoes too! This project is still mooted and there are a couple of singers who can potentially sing the songs but this one is a male/female duet: it's my very own "Dont you want me, baby".

I wouldnt be at all surprised if I affected a flat Northern accent to sing this. It's the sort of thing I do. I'm nothing if not inauthentic!


Endless Summer Night

Him.
I wanted local colour
When I first hit town
I was a cub reporter
On a national of renown

Her
I saw you by the dance floor
Shuffling nervously
I said “I’m like super-glue
Use me sparingly!”

Him
Yes, you took my breath away
One day I’ll need it back

Her
You could save your breath
If you could shut your trap

Both. Chorus.
Our eyes met on the dance-floor
Our tongues met in the cab
You couldn’t cook up this chemistry
In a beaker in a lab
I’ve heard of star-crossed lovers
But we’re for disco lights
Moving across the dance floor
On an endless summer night

Him.
The first thing I noticed
In fact I noticed two,
Your eyes ignite like cold blue bols
I knew it had to be you,

Her
You tried to buy me a drink
With a press card and some coppers
You looked like Johnny Depp
From the happy shopper

Mid-8
London prices in a local club
An indie night about a student pub
The muggy air is thick with pheromones
The bass is thumping get jumping on my bones

Both. Chorus.
Our eyes met on the dance-floor
Our tongues met in the cab
You couldn’t cook up this chemistry
In a beaker in a lab
I’ve heard of star-crossed lovers
But we’re for disco lights
Moving across the dance floor
On an endless summer night