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Where's Your Head At, Adam Ant?

J. Kordosh, Creem, March 1983

THE ROOM WAS full of balloons. A bouquet of balloons, sold nowadays like helium-filled, high-tech clusters that cling to the ceiling. A bundle of mail was strewn on the table counter, next to a cheesecake and a carafe of juice. Most of it remained unopened, but several drawings sat propped against the envelopes. They were pencil drawings, and they were good. An eight-by-twelve of an ant, tattooed with hearts and daggers, was the best. It was from a teen-aged girl.

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