Oh. Em. Gee. Our Chezz, the best dancer and mediocre singer ever to be romantically linked to Will.I.Am, is back and her latest track will rebuild the empire she once had.
Not only is Call My Name produced by Calvin Harris, it also sounds like the music of bad night clubs circa 2007. It takes me back to nights enjoying the odd blue VK while very underage. I love it.
I can think of no better way to mark this tremendous comeback than by watching Cheryl stride through a sewer alongside a quote from an eighteenth-century politician and philosopher.
Thankfully, this is how her new video starts.
Call My Name opens with Chezz teetering along a tunnel of dirty water as the message “the only way to a woman’s heart is along the path of torment” flashes in block capitals next to her. It’s super emotive.
These words, written by Marquis de Sade, are not only tremendously relevant to Cheryl’s US X Factor troubles and Ashley Cole drama, but to walk through a sewer in open toe heels must be quite the path of torment. I do not envy you Chezza.
The trance chords chime and Cheryl arches her back to rub herself against the walls of said tunnel (probs not that hygienic). It becomes clear that her body is once again bangin and her hair has returned to its pre-Loreal ad glory. For this, I really do envy her.
She clashes leopard print knickers with a rainforest floral jacket and neon heels. So fashion! So Grazia! Plus, look how big her hair is.
She comes to the end of her path of torment and arrives at a race track. She has swapped her rather top heavy outfit for rainforest harems, a leather jacket and a neon crop top.
I guess it’s pretty warm as the jacket is thrown on the floor. It’s going to get dirty, but Chezz is too busy thinking about de Sade’s philosophy to notice.
She waves at her pals. They’re waiting ahead of her with four cars and a motorbike. Are they calling her name? She walks towards them. They must be.
Her hair is now in a high pony and is looking so tousled and hot. In fact she tousles it a little more as she struts around with her friends. They’re all male and one has dreadlocks. They’re definitely bad ass.
Her friends approach her. One is wearing a tilted trilby. This reinforces the group’s bad ass vibes. I worry for Cheryl’s safety.
The video cuts to a sunset cityscape and then to club where Chezz is working a major smoky eye. She once again rubs herself against the sewer walls in her lovely rainforest jacket.
She dances with her friends. They’re dressed like JLS and dance like JLS so clearly aren’t so bad ass after all. Cheryl is safe.
Oh god, now there’s a slicked back hair look. I’m going to ignore this. I’m too upset by it.
A new scene is introduced. It’s night time. Cheryl has reclaimed her leather jacket from the floor. She teams it with some leather trousers and a cut out swimsuit. Her hair has been released from its slimy prison and is just so Bridgette Bardot. I am once again in love.
She drives a carefully logoed BMW and looks out over the city, perhaps pondering the words of de Sade once more.
She writhes against the walls of the sewer, clearly haunted by his ideas.
More flashing, more writhing, more JLS dancing. Next a boy band crotchal thrust from the boys. Then, a slicked-back-hair stare to end. Call my name baby.
The Harker provides a platform for young (unpaid) writing talent.