ADAM ANT
Vive Le Rock
1985, Sony
By Pepsi Sheen
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"Like a teenage sleaze, a comic book tease, with your art on your sleeve..." -Billy Idol

"Oh, but it's hard to live by their rules-I never could, and still never do...." -Chrissie Hynde

"We are, we are, we are rather helpless..." -Icicle Works

"They just wanna suck you into being one of them..." -Psychedelic Furs

"No athletic program, no discipline, no books, he just sat in the backseat, swearing he'd seek revenge, but then he jumped into the furnace singing old songs we loved..." -David Bowie

"They put a hot wire to my head, cos of the things I did and said, they make these feelings go away, a model citizen in every way..." -P.I.L.

"Don't be lonesome for your heroes-Be Your Own Hero!" -Peter Coyote

BANG BANG YOU'RE DEAD, DID NOT, DID TOO.....

"Climbed onto the nearest star-miss her lots, but there you are... Write a letter, be home soon, busy lassoing the moon..."

I dunno if it was on Dick Clark's post-cartoons, Saturday noonish American Bandstand, or in the middle of the night on Ted Turner's "Night Tracks", where I first caught sight of ole Goody Two Shoes and his barking brigade of Bo Diddley-ing buccaneers, but it had an immediate, Shazam!-like impact on my little, pre-teen psyche. Like, "Right. That's it. Trainrobbers. Hoist the Jolly Roger. A pirate's life for me." I was probably 13, or so-I first heard my friend Stewart Strunk going on about punk rock in the third grade, but the music with the visuals were really wild and inspirational to a kid like me. An only child escaping into his headphones and beanbag chair fantasy world in a wood paneled basement hideout. I've had numerous basement hideouts over the years, come to
think of it. After an embarrassing, early elementary school T-Ball season with the no-wins Cubs, who had to slap hands with the conquering girls, and fatboys, on the Astros, where we had to mutter the obligatory good game after getting stomped on, I was through with sports. Later, I tried track, but the ice kept falling out of my rocks glass. I had a much maligned, southern accent that I was mercilessly skewered for by the Yankee Izods at my suburban school-and glasses. The upper class-drones used to call me Joey
Ramone or Elvis Costello, but not in a complimentary way.

  My only comfort came from reading comic books and Creem Magazine, and library non-fiction, and drawing, and the music of Elvis, the Doors, Beatles, Stones, Monkees, Joan Jett, Pretenders, Psychedelic Furs, Sex Pistols, and Van Halen. Oh yeah, and the Blues Brothers, and Saturday Night Live. Mad and Cracked magazines. Heavy Metal magazine. Foom. What If?. Doctor Strange, Silver Surfer, Defenders, Avengers, X Men, Teen Titans, and the Legion Of Super Heroes. I identified strongly with the Substitute
Legionnaires, cos they were the Not-Ready-For-Primetime Super Heroes with the fucked up powers, like the Calamity Kid. If you shook hands with him, your plants died, your car broke down, your utilities get disconnected, your parents would get mad at you-that kinda thing.

My own neurotic, pill-popping Mother had no idea what to do with this faux-hippie Beatles geek and his tendency to smear on her make-up and gaudiest costume jewelry and scarves to dance like Mick Jagger in his bedroom mirror. The shrinks didn't help matters at all. I wanted to be a King of the Wild Frontier, that was it. I didn't even fit in with the school. I just wanted out. Between the ages of 9 and 13, my idea of a
goodtime not involving fireworks, was jumping up and down on my bed shrieking, "You can NOT petition the Lord with prayer!!", or "We want the world and we want it NOW!", or sneaking out my window at night to soap and toilet paper the rich kid’s houses with Ernie and Sean. I didn't even like Atari. Just wanted to rock, pretty much from day one.
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 I tried speaking in a fake Davey Jones accent, and claiming I was from Old Blighty for awhile, but that never really went over that well. I was not into Air-Jordans - I wore cowboy boots. I had some friends-Dekan, who played guitar and loved Black Sabbath, and his much abused sidekick, the Rat. Wuzzy, a light skinned black kid who was charismatic and obedient enough to be allowed to attend school dances with white girls, and this was back when the 'burbs were still openly racist and small towns were strictly
segregated. When MTV was still loathe to play any black artists, besides Rick James and Michael Jackson. Wuzzy was sort of a jock, sort of an asskisser, became very popular. Joey, Tom, and Mitch-the wiseguy troublemakers from the nearby Catholic school. Tracesa-a girl who liked to draw that me and Little Dave even went to church with occasionally. Jaysin B., who was always stealing cars and running away from home, and going back to detention hall. His mom was in corrections. I'd hide him out for two and three months at a time in the basement underneath a table with a sheet pulled over it.

"Antmusic", the song, would stay in my head for days. All the double Gary Glitter tribal drums and yips and Indian war whoops. Henry Rollins really hated Adam Ant, but just look at me. I was totally into it-the crazy image, the jumping around wildly, the billowy shirts, the Sgt. Pepper military coats, and Sitting bull warrior breast-plates, and colored paper braided in the hair. I dug Bow Wow Wow and the Stray Cats and Blondie and the Go Go's, too. What's not to love? "It's your money that we want/and your money we shall have!" ADAM & THE ANTS really helped to unlock my youthful imagination. They were like Peter Pan's Lost Boys sprung full to life. Pirates of the Caribbean. I loved the big hollow body guitars and Cuban heels and red leather jackets, and completely, utterly ridiculous, Prince Charming/Don Juan flamboyant posturing. "Unlock the jukebox and do us all a favour-that music's lost it's taste, so try another flavour..."
 

 I always found it really surprising that so many tough guy American "punks" just HATED the Ants, they almost always had a negative stance against Billy Idol, too - I guess for being entertaining and selling too many records, but I always saw those guys, and David Lee Roth, as escapist comic book-heroic shamen acting out all my own Knights Of The Round Table fantasies. I didn't have MTV for forever, so I'd have to catch his videos for "Goody Two Shoes" and "Strip" on "Night Tracks", or sometimes, "Night Flight" on the USA network over at Sean's house. "Night Flight" was amazing. They'd have Public Image, Siouxsie and The Banshees, Billy Idol, and Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five all on the same show.
 

I suppose alla youse guys already know Ant's band Bazooka Joe opened up for the Pistols in '77. I bought up all the ANTMUSIC I could find, and while most of his albums brim with loony filler, there would always be those two or three solid gold, pop hits that sang straight to this cowboy heart of mine. "Stand & Deliver", "Desperate But Not Serious", "You're So Physical". His cover of the Doors, "Hello I Love You". "Beat My Guest".

When I started really getting into girls, I couldn't help but appreciate how they all seemed to share my love for Adam's tribal drums, falsetto yelping, the original "white stripe", and swashbuckling dementia. When all these beautiful, older women started taking care of me because I was an unemployable, runaway street kid, who could rarely find work due to my shaggy hair, and gaunt, nearly translucent appearance, I'd mistakenly thought I'd been afforded some kind of mystical, genius grant, and I'd never have to push a mop. I was wrong.

 When I finally got back from almost two years on the streets and after hours clubs of Lower Manhattan, I finally found some other artsy, punk rock cohorts to start forming my own barbarous, glammy, grebo-punk, Alice Cooper bands with. I remember that our first covers were Pretenders "Message Of Love", Eddie Cochran's "Somethin' Else", and Adam Ant's "Feed Me To The Lions". We saw ourselves as noble savage, rank outsider, cavalier, Mohair Locke room pinup-boys, and I naively assumed this particularly close cadre of mercurial, dirty leather rebels were gonna stay together forever and conquer the music world like pillaging bandits of the high seas, but life is what happens to you while you're busy showing off, guzzling alcohol, and chasing girls.

YOU CUT OFF HIS HEAD, LEGS COME LOOKING FOR YOU.....

 When ANT lost summa his shipmates to McClaren's jailbait scheme BOW WOW
WOW, his first mate and chief henchman, Marco stayed faithful to the crusade. Marco Pirroni had a heady influence on alla my own teenage Johnny Thunders'. He was the perfect guitar hero, really. Maybe not quite as technically flash as Brian Setzer, or the various Eddie Van Halen wannabes of the day, what Marco lacked in deedly, Steve Stevens jack off-wizardry, he more than compensated for with his impeccable flair, and 50's style switchblade minimalism. He was like, the post-Bolan, proto-Neal X. We loved
him. Pay attention to that man, lads - he'll show yas how it's done. A wild nobility. Stars made for us tonight. I've heard countless jocko make-up phobes, over the years, insist that either Adam can't sing, or Marco can't play. I'm always like, "You're kidding, right?" -Usually, that kinda bluster and yahoo's coming from somebody who likes Whitesnake and Saxon, Montrose, and the Scorpions, and Kingdom Come, primarily, so why argue? Sammy Hagar. The mullet's own Jimmy Buffet. I know. Mas Tequila, Poundcake, 55...you can keep him.
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TOO EMOTIONAL AM I? TOO EMOTIONAL AM I?

Commercial 80's new wave had finally spread throughout my age group even back home in the burbs. Me and my homeboy Sean went to see Cyndi Lauper and I cried when someone hit her in the face with a big shoe. Adam turned in one of the punchiest, most purely rock'n'roll performances at LIVE AID, and continued to enjoy a worldwide cult-following to this day. He jumped the shark in '89, or so, with "Manners & Physique", a preposterous stab at Paula Abdul/Jodi Watley/Ready For The World style radio R& B, co-written by Dexy's Midnight Runners nutter, Kevin Rowland, and produced by Prince's childhood bassist/roommate/disposed of best friend, Andre Cymone, that produced one hit, called, "There's Always Room At The Top". After this I remember the eighteenth century brain briefly pursuing an acting career, that included appearances in "Slamdance" and some other films, "Jubilee" come to think of it, and a memorable visit to Alaska on TV's "Northern Exposure". We didn't hear much more from Adam after that, until he was arrested a cuppla years back for pulling a replica pirate pistol on some pub locals who were ridiculing his ensemble, and thrust into the looney bins, a few years ago.

At that time, I wrote him a tediously long fan letter of support, thanking him for all his genius and inspiration cos in my eyes, he's still the coolest. Melody Maker or somebody put out a $15 glossy magazine all about the New Romantics last year, with Adam Ant on the cover that I intensely coveted, and agonized, and suffered over not being able to afford to purchase for months on end, until it finally vanished from the newsstand. If
anybody can part with their copy and wants to donate it to the Pep Squad, please send it to SLEAZEGRINDER WORLD H.Q.

Looks like Adam's put on some pounds since he lost his mind - but so did I, and I used to be king of the Anorexic Teenage Sexgods. A.A. remains one of the all-time rock'n'
roll greats in my book, an original, we need more of them. I really hope he puts out another classic ANTMUSIC masterpiece with Marco and the old Ants, or his pal, Boz Boorer, from Morrisey's band.

THANKS AGAIN, Adam, you're one of my real heroes. We want more ANTMUSIC.
Think 70's glam and punk and new wave-no more Hall & Oates stabs at radio funk, or hip-hop, or blue eyed soul, Ok, Adam?

-FIN-

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