
King-Sized Pop: The Album That Catapulted Adam and the Ants to Stardom
In 1980 ‘Antmania’ rebuked the grayness of punk rock with a new glossy sound and vibrant fashion sense
By David Chiu
“Don’t tread on an ant, he’s done nothing to you / And there might come a day when he’s treading on you” — Adam and the Ants, “Antmusic”
The new deluxe reissue of British new wave firestarter Adam and the Ants’ classic 1980 record Kings of the Wild Frontier is a very comprehensive package, to say the least. Not only does it feature the original album both on CD and gold vinyl (remastered by Adam Ant), but the set also contains: a 1981 live concert recording from Chicago; bonus tracks, including B-sides and demos; a DVD of promo videos—a mini-documentary of the Ants’ tour of America, and a 1981 concert from Tokyo; a thick-sized booklet written by Ant; and replica memorabilia (i.e. poster, stickers, glossy photos, fan club letter, etc.). Oh… and they’re all housed in a gold box.

Such lavish treatment for just one album may seem way over the top, but lavish just barely scratches the surface in summing up the unique career of Adam Ant. Even without all the bells and whistles that this new box set offers, Kings of the Wild Frontier is significant in any survey of British pop music history. Both the album and the band ushered in the era of “new pop” and “new romanticism”—when a fresh crop of photogenic, style-conscious British pop acts emerged after punk and post-punk. Kings of the Wild Frontier was a huge hit both commercially and critically in the U.K., launching the band to pop-star status and creating “Antmania” on both sides of the Atlantic.
More than just a record, Kings of the Wild Frontier was also a bold statement of intent for Ant, who had a justifiable chip on his shoulder. Prior to that album’s recording, Ant was at a crossroads following his band’s 1979 debut record, Dirk Wears White Sox, a conventional-sounding post-punk record made with an early version of the Ants. The often-told story is that Ant employed Sex Pistols manger Malcolm McLaren to help advance the band’s career; instead, the other members of the Ants — Leigh Gorman, Dave Barbarossa and Matthew Ashman — mutinied and went over to McLaren’s latest project, Bow Wow Wow, in the early part of 1980. But rather than throwing in the towel, Ant reinvented himself, first by hiring some new Ants: guitarist and key songwriting collaborator Marco Pirroni; bassist Kevin Mooney; and twin drummers Terry Lee Miall and Chris “Merrick” Hughes.

Stylistically, Ant’s music did a 180-turn from the somewhat arty post-punk of Dirk Wears White Sox to a shiny, energetic brand of pop that incorporated the Burundi beat (one of the legacies that McLaren left with Ant). Equally as important, Ant underwent a key makeover as a swashbuckling hero whose wardrobe appropriated the look of the 18th-century Hussar light cavalry man and an Apache warrior. (Ant recently told The Guardian’s Alexis Petridis: “Putting the Apache war stripe across my nose was a declaration of arms against the music industry, which I felt had ignored me and treated me very unfairly”).
Both the new music and the image makeover was a reaction to the grayness of British punk rock at the dawn of the 80s — a rather bleak period for the nation’s youth marked by unemployment and the rise of Margaret Thatcher. That climate contributed to the growth of the new romantic movement, although Ant in a later Guardian interview disassociated himself from the bands of that period. “From now on there would be colour, dash and fire…heroism,” Ant wrote in the reissue’s liner notes.
The new heroic Ants debuted on Kings of the Wild Frontier, which was released in November 1980. The bravado theme was quite evident on the album’s first track, the primal and defiant-sounding breakthrough “Dog Eat Dog” that fired an opening salvo to Ant’s critics: “You may not like the things we do/Only idiots ignore the truth.” Another rebellious track, “Antmusic,” easily the most recognizable off the record, was the group’s promise of something new amid a stale music scene. Accented by the Burundi-beat like on “Dog Eat Dog,” “Antmusic”’s memorable chorus delivers the killer hook: “So unplug the jukebox and do us all a favour/That music’s lost all its taste/So try another flavour.” Complementing the brash pop were a few stylistic turns: the Latin-tinged “Los Rancheros,” a homage to spaghetti Western-era Clint Eastwood; and the slinky tropical-disco funk “Don’t Be Square,” which essentially summed up the Ants’ philosophy: “Antmusic for sexpeople/Sexmusic for antpeople.”






