“Vitamins,” the debut by London artist Cello, begins with a daily litany that many women know by heart: “I’ll do the homework… I’ll be a good girl… I’ll clean the house… I’ll do your therapy… I’ll do the workout…”. With soft submission, these lines describe a person who has been fulfilling a contract for years that she never signed. And when Cello asks, “Why don’t you give them to me?”, it becomes clear – this is no longer about supplements. It’s about recognition. About autonomy. About that invisible debt that is almost never repaid.
What grips most in “Vitamins” is the choice of intonation. Cello works with humor – soft and barely noticeable. On the surface, it doesn’t touch anyone, but linger for a second longer – and it begins to hurt in a very specific way. Her chorus – “Vitamins, vitamins, yeah yeah” – sounds like a pharmacy advertisement taken to the point of absurdity. A song about invisible labor – emotional, domestic, aesthetic, therapeutic – which the market returns in neat packaging called “self-care.” The irony here is precise and slightly unsettling. And one more important detail. The name Cello is no coincidence: she studied the cello at the Junior Royal College of Music in London before sharply changing trajectory and moving into minimalist post-punk. Her classical past does not decorate the song – it holds it from within. Every repetition here is meaningful, and every pause has weight. Chamber dramaturgy disguised as post-punk.
“Vitamins” is the debut single and a harbinger of the upcoming album “Kung Fu Disco.” And if this is the aperitif, I’m staying for dinner.
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