I’ve been to London, and Adam Ant I have seen. I knew I would probably live to regret it, but I couldn’t help wearing a big swishy top (kimono sleeved wraparound Ossie in black moss crepe with satin trim) and some very glossy patent shoes. I love the gothic, fetish imagery of his early badge and t-shirt designs.
Friday night was Adam’s big comeback gig at La Scala, so Charley and I got our hands on two very precious tickets and somehow managed to brave the nasty torrential rain. Me with curls in my hair and an Ossie Clark top upon my person. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Why does it always rain on me when I’m heading to gigs? To paraphrase someone.
As we were walking around, trying to find a bar in which to meet the fabulous Jenny Drag from The Priscillas, we actually bumped into the man himself just arriving. I say bumped into; I did my usual polite ‘getting out of the way’ thing, while he was not looking where he was going and veering into me. Seconds later, I realised I should have been veering into him… Dang. A fair amount of brandy was going to be required to calm us down…
Anyway, once he took to the stage the night really came to life. After a slightly shaky start where he announced that ‘Adam and the Ants are no more’ and that all that stuff was behind him and the usual kind of stuff they say, and then a rather fabulous rendition of Get it On (accompanied by a very cute story I now can’t bloody remember about how he once met Marc Bolan), he finally launched into Ant Music. Ahhhhhh.
I felt a bit guilty, feeling so happy that he was playing part of his back catalogue. I’m not sure why. I guess I have a healthy respect for an artist’s right to play whatever the hell they want to play, unless something else has been advertised. But it was a guilty pleasure, for it continued into Kings of the Wild Frontier, Goody Two Shoes, Prince Charming (a drink prevented me from full arm thrusting but I was doing it in spirit) and, bizarrely, Apollo 9. Amongst others, of course. Including a very sexy rendition of Shakin’ all Over.
After an encore and lots of aggressive bopping by lots of aggressive middle aged jerks in centre front (flashbacks of Lovebox terror and Charley kept looking at me with great concern on her face) he came back out and announced he was going to read some poetry. A sad spectacle ensued where he was trying to read to those who wished to listen, whilst aforementioned sad middle aged jerks were yelling obscenities and demanding more songs. I’m sorry, but the tickets were pretty damn cheap for a gig by an actual icon and you’d already got your gig. Plus encore. If he wants to sit and read to us, then that’s his right. You can either sit and listen or bugger off.
He managed to get to the end, however, and good on him for doing so.
You may or may not remember, back in July, I lost an amazing vintage enamel Adam Ant badge at the Lovebox festival. I’m still grouchy at Nick Rhodes for that.
Darling Charley decided, once people had cleared off, to go hunting for badges and other memorabilia which he had thrown into the audience. Amazingly, she found a badge. Who the hell throws an Adam Ant badge on the floor, which he’s just thrown to them himself? People are weird. But the Gods of Rock and Roll obviously decided that I was owed a semi-replacement badge and sent Charley to deliver it. BryanGod bless her!
It was like all the stars had aligned themselves that night, aside from the one which guards against blisters on your tootsies, and it really was an incredible experience. It was lovely to see Jenny again and her gorgeous friend Ali, and pretty surreal to be standing there watching someone I’ve adored for so long. It took a while to relax and enjoy it, if I’m honest, because of his past problems. But I stopped feeling like I was watching Bambi after a few songs, and have now utterly lost my voice from singing along.
The news that Roxy Music are headlining the Lovebox Festival in July (you mean I have to go through all that AGAIN?? I’m packing spiky clothes this time around…) reminds me of the dastardly Nick Rhodes. Senti pointed out to me that he’s probably been telling the BryanGod that Lovebox is a great idea. Honestly, BryanGod, you can’t wear Manolos and Antony Price dresses to a park in East London. You can barely keep your shoes ON, let alone clean and out of the mud. Sigh.
Rhodes is the ultimate diabolical mastermind. He’s usually tempered somewhat by old chum John Taylor, but occasionally is allowed to roam free with his wicked plans, and irritatingly beautiful hair and make-up. Curses.
Take Arcadia, for instance. It took a little longer for me to get into them, mainly due to lack of BassGod involvement, but I was able to access them successfully via The Flame – and now I rather love their So Red The Rose album project. (There’ll be a Special Edition CD and DVD set out later this year, I understand).
This is a truly brilliant video in many ways, and sadly was one of the project’s last works. So it wasn’t even vaguely successful. But what’s not to love? Haunted House scenario. Simon Le Bon being goofy. A brief, very sexy, cameo from Mr Taylor (the Mr Taylor who was returning, rather than silly, silly Andy) with his very bewitching eyebrow shenanigans.
By this point, Master Nicholas Bates has gone blond again. Which gives him an even creepier look than the black hair of the early Arcadia output. The black was just a bit Elizabeth Taylor, especially teamed with candy pink pout and gargantuan eyebrows.
There’s got to be some kind of link with that video and Lovebox. Nick Rhodes secretly enjoys watching people suffer whilst they desperately try to retain some semblance of glamour and propriety? Will he be watching Roxy from a rose-filled plastic bubble suspended ten feet above the crowd? We all know how much he adores them, so perhaps he’d like to come and stand in the crowd and see what he put us through last year?
Yes, I know this post is very silly. But I’m in that kind of mood today…