For three glittering years, he was the biggest name in British pop - but he always hid the truth about himself behind his obsessively-promoted stage image. Now, for the first time, Adam Ant reveals how thousands of women threw themselves at him, and the madness that destroyed every relationship he had


In the grey, cold, echoing emergency ward of a hospital in North London, I was shaken into consciousness by a hard-faced and overworked charge nurse. "Wake up, you little bastard,", she hissed in my ear. I groaned. Satisfied I was awake, she left me alone. Somewhere out of sight down a winding, peeling corridor, a woman was screaming. There was no one else around.

As I sat up, groggy and lost, I saw the name Stuart Goddard written in chalk on a board next to a door. That was the name my parents had given me 22 years earlier. But I had killed Stuart Goddard. The handful of my mother-in-law's pills I swallowed had done the job. That failed suicide attempt, in the summer of 1976, was the turning point in my life.

I hadn't died but 'Stuart' had. For that evening I ceased to be him and emerged, reinvented, as Adam Ant - a pop star alter ego hungry for fame and fortune. My young wife of a few months, Carol, came to pick me up from the hospital with her father, scared and confused.

"Why did you do it, Stuart?" she asked.

"Call me Adam," I replied.

"Why?" she said.

"Because..." I mumbled.

Sitting in the back of her father's car, I couldn't really explain. But I knew that a new life was calling me and that I would, eventually, have to leave her.

Within a few weeks, I had formed a new band, Adam And The Ants - I chose ants because they are hard- working, tough and communal. And in less than four years I would be celebrating the first of 15 Top 20 UK hits and the start of a global pop career that would earn me more than £10million.

Riding a wave of hysteria and adulation, I would embark on romances with a string of famous women, among them actresses Amanda Donohoe and Jamie Lee Curtis, and countless others.

But the deep depression that had led to my suicide attempt and the birth of Adam Ant would remain a constant companion. Although I did not know it, my very need to succeed and my countless affairs were a clue to my problems. Girls, music and hard work helped contain my illness and erratic behaviour. Sex was my panacea.

Terrifying hallucinations

The first signs of mental illness came early in life. From the age of about four, I suffered terrifying hallucinations.

Sitting wide awake in the early hours, I'd be in the middle of a giant aquarium. Perfect, 3-D Technicolor fish would swim around the room. Sharks, stingrays and Portuguese men-of-war would slide within inches of my pyjamas.

My parents put it down to the trauma caused by my father's drinking. He was a violent alcoholic and after each episode he would promise to mend his ways. Which he would - for about two days.

My mother finally left him when I was seven. She was a cleaner who had once worked as an embroiderer for Norman Hartnell, the Queen's dress designer. As a single parent, she struggled to bring me up in a run-down tenement in North London. Not that life was utterly without glamour: Mum once had a job as a daily for Paul McCartney in his white Georgian house in St John's Wood.

I was passionate about painting and, after leaving grammar school in 1973, I went to Hornsey art college in North London. It was here I met Carol, the cutest blonde at college.

On the day I met her, she was wearing satin hot pants and suede knee-length boots. If she had been only a great pair of legs, that would have meant some serious sex, but since she was also kind, generous and understanding, that meant something altogether different.

I was in love. I wanted her for myself. To my mind, there was only one way of making sure of that. Although I was only 20, I asked her to marry me. We exchanged rings at a white wedding in St John's Wood in 1975.

For a few brief months, with me feeling high, restless and full of energy, we had a great time together. But then things started to change. In November 1975, I saw The Sex Pistols play their first gig at St Martin's art school. They were the support act for my band - Bazooka Joe - and their rawness and energy, which made our performance look hopelessly out-of-date, had a hair-raising effect on me. From then on, I wanted to be something different and be someone else.

Trapped

What's more, I was living with Carol's parents and felt trapped. My hallucinations returned and I sank into a depression as bad as any I had suffered as a child. Carol couldn't make me feel better, alcohol didn't help and I had no energy to create music. It was in this desperate state that I decided I could no longer be Stuart Goddard and took the pills.

After leaving the hospital and, later, Carol, I went to live with my father and stepmother and formed Adam And The Ants. Our music wasn't outright punk, but it was still raw - and loud. I called it Antmusic. In the first incarnation of my new alter ego, I wore black leather and white Japanese kabuki face paint.

I later teamed up with the guitarist Marco Pirroni to devise the sound and look that came to define the band. I had taken to reading books on American Indians and African tribes, and adopted an Apache/gipsy-warrior look, with knee bells to make my moves percussive, a kilt and the now legendary white stripe across my nose.

We played our first gig in May 1977 and I was on a high again, enjoying my new-found freedom as a single man. It seemed the only way of keeping my depression at bay was to stay busy - and have as much sex as possible. So that became the big idea for Adam Ant: work and sex for a healthy life.

I was seeing many women, among them Amanda Donohoe, now famous for her roles in the film Castaway and the TV series LA Law. At the time, though, she was only 16 and not yet an actress. Mandy had approached me at a gig in 1978 and a few days later came to see me at home in Chelsea. It was difficult to believe she was just 16. She was beautiful, with black hair and a perfectly formed woman's body. She was also intelligent and sharp-tongued.

After an hour of chatting and laughing on the sofa, I was shocked when she suddenly kissed me. I didn't expect her to be experienced and had no intention of going any further until we knew each other better. It would be more than a month before we made love, but when we did it was amazing. In my diary I described it as "life-enriching".

Meanwhile, Antmusic was starting to catch on. We gigged solidly, leading to sessions on the influential John Peel radio show and our first album, Dirk Wears White Sox, in 1979.

The following year we went on tour, with Mandy acting as wardrobe mistress, painting feathers with stripes and sewing ribbons into hair extensions for me. Mandy thought I was her boyfriend and that, naturally, meant we were to be faithful.

In my mind, I was. I cared deeply about her. But in the flesh I couldn't be faithful. I had to have sex with new, different women whenever I could. The sex distracted me, kept me sane.

After receiving any kind of bad news - about the band or contracts, for instance - I had to have sex. When, on rare occasions, I couldn't find anyone, I couldn't sleep. My diary of the time is littered with my thoughts on those lonely nights. I refer constantly to Mandy as "my girl" and to other women I was sleeping with as "friends".

Diary

One day, Mandy looked at my diary and discovered what was going on. She was furious, and we had a huge row. But we agreed to stay together.

In July 1980, Adam And The Ants signed to the record label CBS and in October we appeared for the first time on Top Of The Pops, which propelled our single Dog Eat Dog up the charts. Our next single, Antmusic, made No 2 in December.

After three years of hard work, I had finally made it. I had always expected it to happen. Part of me was relieved the wait was over - another part felt apprehensive about what was to come next. I wanted to make another album and set up another tour, to be as busy as I could to keep the "high" going. I knew work would keep depression at bay.

Women were now more available to me than ever before. On tour, I would go down to the hotel lobby to meet girls who had followed us back from a show. Sex was available every few feet. With the right vibes and a little chatter I'd have a lovely girl in my room and soon in my bed.

Mandy was about to start drama school and we were still seeing each other off and on - though with my touring commitments it had been more off than on. In the meantime, I began an affair with a red-haired topless-model-turned-dancer named Carole Caplin (who later became famous as Cherie Blair's health guru). We'd met through the Page Three girl Tessa Hewitt, and although I was sleeping with Tessa, the attraction between Carole and I was too powerful to ignore.

Fortunately, we were able to keep our affair private for several months. It was a gorgeous romance, tainted slightly by the guilt I fought. Carole was calm, sensuous and relaxing to be around. But her serenity did not rub off on me and I continued to work manically, either writing songs, recording videos or touring.

Eventually I realised I'd been working non-stop for two years and decided to take a ten-day break in Barbados with an old friend.

As it turned out, it was the worst thing I could have done. After two days, my mind was crowded with irrational thoughts of Mandy back in Britain sleeping with someone else and concerns that my record company was doing nothing but feeding off me.

After four days, I called my manager, Don Murfet, and had him fly Carole Caplin out to be with me. We had three days together before I came back to London early, damning Barbados as a tropical hell. Carole had enjoyed the lazing around, as most people would, but I was having obsessive thoughts about Mandy - despite being with Carole - and desperately wanted to see her.

I next ran into Carole on a flying visit to London. After a pleasant meal, we went back to her flat where she ambushed me. By now, she'd become an Exegesist. Exegesis involves the detailed reading of religious texts, or at least that's its literal meaning. In the early Eighties it came to be a catch-all name for reading anything and then reading too much into what you'd just "studied".

'Enlightened'

Since Carole had been "enlightened", she decided to tell me how f***** up I was. Instead of leaving, as I should have done, I stayed and argued until we were both exhausted. I then went home to my Primrose Hill flat and slept like a baby.

In summer 1981, the band recorded our third album, Prince Charming. But I already had one eye on the future and hoped the pop videos we were releasing would launch a new career as an actor.

The video for the Prince Charming single is the one most people remember. It has a cast of thousands and the song was written with the video in mind, which is probably why both were so successful. It has the chorus, "Ridicule is nothing to be scared of." It meant, "Go out and do what you want to do, believe and you'll succeed." After all, I had.

Throughout this period, Mandy Donohoe was still on the scene, though I continued to be unfaithful to her. In July 1981, we had another big argument. Mandy had found and read my diary. Again. Again we screamed at each other, again she stormed out of my life. I wrote in my diary: "She needs to be free of me,cos I am bad for her. It breaks my heart to accept and record this because it is never easy to admit weakness, frustration and disappointment in yourself."

We made up, and three weeks later, when I was going abroad, I asked Mandy to walk with me in front of a barrage of photographers at the airport. I wanted to let the world know we were an item. But our relationship didn't last. The following year we finally agreed it was best to be good friends.

Prince Charming topped the UK charts in September 1981. At the time we were touring Australia, where I saw Hollywood star Liza Minnelli on stage. Her performance wiped me out; she was fantastic. Afterwards, I went back to her dressing room. Liza was warm and sincere, and when I left she hugged me and I felt sure we'd meet again.

The show made me think differently about my own live performances and feel I was an idiot for not enjoying my success. I could never take the time to be still, to not work, lie back and simply enjoy things. I had to be active, to keep pushing myself and everyone around me for...what? I wasn't sure.

Liza and I met once more in Australia, and shortly afterwards in Japan, where we went to a club. I asked her to dance. I couldn't believe it as the words left my mouth, but she said "Yes" and there I was, dancing with Liza Minnelli! We danced for ages, holding each other tight, her with her eyes closed.

Nothing else happened between us, but it wasn't long before I began an affair with another Hollywood star. I met Jamie Lee Curtis at a dinner party in Los Angeles. She had just hit the big time - playing a hooker in Eddie Murphy's film Trading Places - and had the most beautiful body. I felt very, very attracted to her.

Our meeting was like a first date where you're both ultra-polite, touching each other surreptitiously and starting conversations just so you can look into each other's eyes. And because she was so ambitious I felt intrigued by her as well as being slightly envious. All night I tried to get close and grab a moment with her. Yet I got the impression she knew that to be successful you have to be ruthless and independent.

When she left the party, we briefly kissed with as much tenderness as company around us would allow. In the hallway she touched my hand and I held hers. I felt we were made for each other.

A couple of days later we had lunch, but neither of us ate much because we were talking so much. Afterwards, we went to a photoshoot I had to do. As I sat waiting for make-up, Jamie leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. "Sorry," she said shyly, "I had to do that."

I went red and pecked her in return.

The make-up woman appeared and I had to go to work. Jamie left, but sent me a card. It read: "I'm sorry I had to leave. I would have loved to stay with you. I hope I get to see you again somewhere. You are very special. With much affection, Jamie."

When we met again it was as if we'd never been apart. She was waiting on the doorstep of the apartment I had on Sunset Strip as I returned sweaty from the gym. We grinned at each other, started hugging and then spent a week together making love, laughing, eating breakfast in public.

We snogged in the back row of a cinema and ate dinner in intimate restaurants. Jamie was one of the most positive people I had met. She was always happy to see me, tactile and generous with her affections.

In 1983, I took my mum for supper at a swanky restaurant in London. After a while, as waiters sucked up to me, the pop star, I looked across at my mum. There she sat, pale and lovely, small and almost shivering with fear.

Ashamed

My mum, who had probably only ever been out to supper at most a dozen times in her whole life, was scared and unsure of how to act. I felt ashamed of myself and how big and full of s*** I had become.

Jamie was special to me, but I still could not think about getting totally involved with one person. Also, I didn't want to be known as the boyfriend of a famous Hollywood actress, which she was rapidly becoming. I wrote in my diary at the time: "I am not in any shape to get too serious about anybody."

Nonetheless, we agreed to spend Christmas 1983 together and spent eight days in my Primrose Hill flat - which almost proved to be the end of the relationship. It wasn't Jamie's fault. She was so positive and bubbly and I was such a misery that, as I wrote in my diary, I would be surprised if she ever spoke to me again.

Yet Jamie was an optimist and did not give up on me. In January, I embarked on a US tour and saw her in New York. We spent four days making love as much as possible before Jamie flew back to LA and I carried on with the tour. After four weeks, I began to get "road fever" and, as ever, I felt an overwhelming compunction to have sex. As with previous tours, it was a different woman in every town.

Eventually, Jamie met me in LA and told me she had to be in control of everything in her life, including her relationships. While I understood, there was no way I could take her in my arms and say that I would be the man she could trust with her life. Our goodnight kiss was chaste and, as it turned out, final.

My personal life was still unsettled and, by the mid-Eighties, my pop career was also faltering. Our recent records had not been quite as successful as earlier ones and the critics were lining up to dismiss us. My 1985 album, Vive Le Rock, flopped.

I was angry with my record company for not helping us as much as I'd hoped. I was told they were cutting back on everything, but I suspected they were just cutting back on Adam Ant.

In December I was told they would "let me go" if I wanted. If we couldn't agree on how to work together, then I could quit the label. At that moment, I knew I was stone cold as a commercial prospect and was floored by a tidal wave of depression.

In less than five years I had gone from the height of global fame to the lowest point in my career. But there was worse to come.
[Edited 10/7/07 2:19am]
[Edited 10/7/07 17:26pm]

Its more a selection of highlights from his autobiography than an article.

Great stuff, where's part 2?

nikkhendrix said:

yeah..
& thanks.

SpecialEd said:

yup your right its an excerpt from the book Stand And Deliver By Adam