Robert Crumb, or as his signature proudly declares, “R Crumb,” stands tall as one of the titans of modern cartooning and an eccentric to boot. Enter Dan Nadel’s meticulously crafted biography, which serves up a platter of quirky details about this outlandish artist.
For many, Crumb first entered consciousness via his iconic cover art for the Cheap Thrills album featuring Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company. His elongated, stoned figures, complete with the catchy slogan “Keep on Truckin’,” adorned every dorm room and long-hauler’s mudflap. But, let’s be clear: this was just the icing on the cake. He was, in fact, the high priest of underground comics in the Sixties and Seventies and the mastermind behind Zap Comix.
Crumb bestowed upon us a psychedelic pantheon of irreverent characters—mischievous, philosophical, and absurd—brought to life by his signature hatching style. Who can forget the likes of Mr. Natural, the Snoid, Angelfood McSpade, Fritz the Cat, and Whiteman? Among them, his most haunting and relatable creation, the lanky figure of R Crumb himself, complete with milk-bottle specs and a treasure trove of neuroses that would make any therapist’s clock tick faster.
His inspirations? Think of the legendary Harvey Kurtzman from Mad magazine, whose anarchic genius beckoned him like a comic-book siren, and Carl Barks—the “good duck artist”—who drew Donald Duck under the radar. And let’s be clear: everyone learned from Crumb. As Art Spiegelman, the genius behind Maus, aptly puts it: “Every cartoonist must pass through Crumb. Encountering him is like a high-speed evolution scene from 2001: A Space Odyssey. You must navigate through his bizarre world to discover your own voice.” Plot twist: the voice you find may sound a lot like a satirical caterwaul.
Despite being a Sixties counterculture icon, Crumb’s worldview is far more singular and retrospective. He’s spent quite a lot of time collecting old 78rpm records—because, why not? Add to this a nostalgic cartooning style harking back to the 19th and early 20th centuries. His critique of society? Mostly anticorporate, but hey, let’s not forget it’s also cloaked in a relentless self-examination.
Born in 1943 amidst the rocky terrain of a lower-middle-class family in Philadelphia—where drama wasn’t just a genre; it was a family trait—Crumb’s childhood was a compelling soap opera of anger, addiction, and craziness. His older brother, the one who sparked his comic ambitions, tragically took his own life in 1992 after a battle with mental health issues, further proving that creativity often walks hand-in-hand with chaos. Miracle of miracles, Crumb escaped this familial circus alive, albeit as a bundle of neuroses, perfectly tuned for the sardonic art world.
Let’s talk about the ironic elephant in the room: Crumb is what today’s youth would call “problematic.” Characters like Angelfood McSpade embody the unsettlingly hyper-eroticized “darky” stereotype. Rape is often rolled out as punchline material in his earlier works, as demonstrated in the infamous “Jail Bait of the Month” feature from his 1968 comic. Sure, his defense was that he merely reflects societal issues, not invents them, which sounds a bit like the kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar claiming they were merely observing cookie distribution dynamics.
Candid is the name of the game for Crumb, who exposed his own libidinous pursuits, prejudices, and grudges as a mirror to the culture he emerged from. One particularly telling panel shows a dejected Crumb being berated by an aggrieved woman while his own thoughts spiral into a comical frenzy of femininity and shame. In his defense, he muses, “I’ll behave, I swear!” while secretly boiling with annoyance. Hello, irony—nice to see you again!
In lieu of jail bars or a #MeToo feature segment, Crumb has had quite the colorful love life. His relationship with his first wife unraveled faster than a cheap sweater, unlike his more fruitful partnership with Aline Kominsky, which flirted with chaos, charm, and creativity. The ‘70s did not go easy on him; as the counterculture he once thrived in faded, he fought the good fight in a new, more somber style influenced by Harvey Pekar. Interestingly enough, when punk rock came along, he thought it chic until a fanzine knifed his Mr. Natural, making him feel like yesterday’s news. His response? Killing off Mr. Natural and declaring himself “washed up.” Dramatic much?
Now, a zen-like Crumb finds himself ensconced in rural France, where the demand for his work surged precisely as he decided to slow down production. Yet, cash was never his compass—no, he was a child at heart when it came to finances, often giving the side-eye to lucrative offers that most would jump at. Licensing offers? Nah, $20,000 for cuddly toys? Crumb would rather hug a cactus. No wonder he turned the Rolling Stones down like a bad date!
Nadel’s biography, an insightful mix of granular detail and sweeping narrative, doesn’t shy away from the awkward. His exploration includes nitty-gritty discussions about print runs and rights disputes—valuable stuff for die-hard fans, though perhaps not for the faint-hearted. Crumb might be a flawed character, but isn’t there a sort of monk-like integrity residing within this otherwise chaotic genius? Widowed and chilling through his ninth decade, Nadel finally coaxed a shrug of approval from him for this warts-and-all portrayal, earning it with considerable effort and a long trek.
In the end, Crumb’s life serves as a kaleidoscopic reflection of an artist who has, against all odds, continued to captivate—and puzzle—legions of fans with his blend of brilliant absurdity and outrageous honesty. Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). Order a copy at timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discounts available for Times+ members.
