When you are little and you have a hero, really, it’s all about the fantasy; the idea of them. Inspiration can seep in and sow the seed, but you probably aren’t aware fully of how they tick.
I remember distinctly the first time I ever heard an Adam and the Ants song. Walking into the church hall for a ‘disco’, on my own, a bit nervous and hearing this beat, those drums and seeing the eldest daughter of the local policeman dancing some strange dance, with scarves tied around her legs and arms. I didn’t particularly like her, but suddenly she was the coolest thing I had ever seen, and I HAD to find out what that music was.
To then find out that the guy whose song it was dressed as a highwayman/pirate/native American was more than the icing on the cake, it was the marzipan, all the silver balls, the edible roses, the cake stand and even the fucking table.
As my first ever crush was Zorro, this was a kid’s dream come true. Being a bit young for anything to be remotely sexual, when you are that age, it is more like Prince Charming is whisking you off on his white charger. And here is someone who is real, walking, talking, living, breathing and singing. And absolutely heart stoppingly gorgeous.
And so the love affair began. I bought every single thing I could get my hands on that had anything to do with Adam Ant; posters, magazines, badges, singles, limited edition singles, fan club memorabilia. I would have the piss unutterably ripped out of me for walking into the disco with full on warpaint, painstakingly recreated by my Mum, smug in the knowledge that it was REAL greasepaint like Adam would wear, not just some eyeshadow your Mum found in the local chemist for 20p.
Yeah OK, I missed out on the whole punk thing; the Dirk Wears White Sox era. I was a bit young to understand it, and the whole rubber fetish thing seemed a bit dark and spooky then (ironic thinking about THAT now!). I remember reading an article about Adam at the time, saying he used to live in a room painted all black with just a mattress on the floor. I did toy with the idea that this ‘was cool’ but then apart from the fact it would have been a resounding ‘no’ from my parents, I think deep down I didn’t really ‘get’ that whole fetish thing (aha obviously the seeds were sewn, they just hadn’t blossomed yet!).
When Adam became Prince Charming, for all his recent proclaiming that it was ‘ the poofy stuff’, there was just nothing like it. People always tried to lump him in with the whole new Romantic movement but it never was. The music was nothing like anything else, and still isn’t. Adam Ant wasn’t even ahead of his time as there has still never been anything like him since!
And so following his exploits over the years, and seeing this beautiful man turn into a balding, bloated, troubled soul was a bit of an eyeopener. As a ‘grown up’ you are a lot more aware of the person behind such genius, and it’s a bit sad when you realise the person who you pretty much thought was your own personal ‘god’ is in fact a bi-polar, fragile human being, with problems and troubles like us all.
Hearing over the last year that there was talk of his come-back, of his getting fit, getting in the studio, of his mental recovery, I was torn. Truly torn. Would this be one of those terrible mistakes where you finally get to meet your hero only to find out he is a total arsehole, or collects Ugg boots or something similarly repulsive? Would the bubble be burst for ever? I mean, here is a man that, really, is responsible for the my inspiration in music. Ok, I was always musical because of my parents, but the showman, the performance, the vocal percussion, all of that came from Adam Ant. No-one wants to realise that something wasn’t quite as it seems when it had such an impact on their younger years.
And so the day I heard that Adam Ant was going to be playing at the Scala – his first proper gig in 15 years – was quite eventful. But there was no real decision to be made. I had to go, it was a simple as that.
I did refrain from dressing up like any sort of pirate or highwayman or indeed wearing a greasepaint Geronimo stripe, but I have to tell you, that in itself felt a bit strange. The last time I went to see Adam Ant was with my Mum, it was to the Prince Charming Revue, I was very little and I cried all the way home on the train from Leeds, as I didn’t want it to end. This time I was a bit nervous as previous guerrilla gigs had been reported as a bit chaotic and there had been a couple of no-shows when Adam was meant to be appearing with the Glitter Band. Would he turn up? As with those situations when it all seems too much for it to actually happen, I had a nagging feeling it wouldn’t happen.
But.
It.
Did.
There are many reports and videos and photos on the web of the gig itself, so I won’t even go into the set list and the band. I don’t need to. I honestly don’t; because the main thing of the whole night was me and Adam Ant, reunited.
I saw the true chaotic, brilliant, beautiful, genius – the man behind the highwayman mask that I had my first childish obsession with. I saw the punk Adam, the angry passionate Adam – still beautiful, even at 55. Before he even stepped onstage he wandered through the crowd and at one point headed straight in my direction. I can truly say I don’t think I have ever been rooted to the spot like that, heart pounding, desperately trying to think of something to say, though no words would probably have come out of my mouth anyway. What is there to say?
That a man who adorned my bedroom wall all those years ago could walk past me and that I could feel the same excitement and feel in person the charisma that jumped off the posters was really quite special. Yes, he has had his troubles, and even now his ranting and raving and unpredictability onstage do make you question whether he is truly in a stable mental state. As he said to the heckler when he bravely and some would say, foolishly, tried to read from Lemmy’s autobiography at the end of his musical set, ‘It’s my fucking show”. He could have done the ‘Here and Now’ tour, as he said, and made shit loads of money but he chose to do it his way (Sid Vicious cover of Frank Sinatra cover anyone?). I know people have questioned whether he was and is in a fit state to come back. But he is a free spirit, albeit with a difficult mental state to control. In this world, what is normal?
So many people of genius and artistic temperament are like him. They may not go waving guns outside Camden pubs, but they all suffer from the ups and downs of art, the black moods, the insecurities, the pretence of arrogance to get through the shit of the industry that tries to pigeonhole us musicians into convenient boxes, the elation after a gig, writing a new song that we think is brilliant, scribbling down a killer line at three in the morning that comes to us in a dream – we all go through it, just some more publicly and sadly than others.
Adam was an inspiration to me then, and he remains an inspiration to me now. There would be no 50ft Woman without Adam Ant.
And yes, I cried all the way home.
LINKS:
See how the inspiration manifested itself: 50ft Woman
