He loves to sleep in. No calls before 10am. Phill Celeste, also known as Life On Planets is that little devil on your shoulder incessantly whispering, âDance in the middle of this Matchabar. Right now. And sing along in the co-working space. No one cares. Theyâre gonna join in.â After his bright eyes got so dark in crowded smoky clubs like the Marcy Hotel and Bardot heâs taken to wearing sunglasses even at night. He doesnât really need to see anyway. His legs just move by themselves. Rock with him. The man is an animal. He will play three notes on your guitar, hit a milly rock and howl into the moon. Howl with Life on Planets. Release your inhibitions and celebrate the moment with the next successor to Robert Owens and Peven Everett as he brings âpoeticâ lyrics back to the dancefloor. How many metaphors can you use to invite someone back home after the club shuts down? Youâre about to find out.