Meet Robert Crumb: The Oddball of Cartooning
Ah, Robert Crumb, or as he signs off, “R Crumb”—a man so eccentric he could give a raccoon a run for its money. Dan Nadel’s meticulous biography dives deep into the mind of this cartooning colossus, revealing both his brilliance and bizarre quirks. Spoiler: Expect to encounter both the dazzling and the deeply, deeply unsettling.
For ages, folks in the ‘straight’ world recognized him for the iconic cover art of the Big Brother and the Holding Company’s album *Cheap Thrills*, or the laid-back figures paired with the epic slogan “Keep on Truckin’.” But that’s like calling the Mona Lisa a “nice painting.” Crumb didn’t just ride the counterculture wave of the ’60s and ’70s; he was a surfboard on that tide, effectively scribbling the guiding art for underground comics and coining *Zap Comix*. Lucky us!
Crumb treated us to a psychedelic pantheon of absurdist characters, each more outrageous than the last. From Mr. Natural to Fritz the Cat, his instantly recognizable hatching style made them all feel as real as that weird uncle we don’t talk about. Of course, let’s not forget his most chilling creation: R Crumb himself—an anxious ectomorph with the vibe of a rejected science project that somehow turned sentient.
Our dear Robert took his artistic cues from the likes of Harvey Kurtzman—venerated madcap of *Mad* magazine—and Carl Barks, the humble maestro behind Donald Duck. The takeaway? Without Crumb, we wouldn’t have had artists like Art Spiegelman, Chris Ware, or even the people who draw your bathroom graffiti. Spiegelman quipped it best: “Every cartoonist has to pass through Crumb.” So essentially, if you’re a cartoonist and haven’t encountered Crumb, you might want to check your pulse.
Though Crumb epitomized the Sixties counterculture, he just as readily resided in his own peculiar world. This self-proclaimed collector of old 78rpm records never seemed to hitch a ride on the mainstream train of thought. His critiques of society often circled back to a self-examination even more unflattering than those awkward family photos you hide in the attic.
Born in Philadelphia among a cast of family members who could make a drama series look like a sitcom, Crumb’s early life wasn’t exactly a Hallmark story. His older brother, a fellow doodler, met a tragic fate, becoming one of those “what could have been” stories in the Crumb saga. Let’s just say denying he wasn’t fuelled by neuroses would be like denying cats like scratching furniture—impossible!
And oh boy, is Crumb problematic. His characters, like Angelfood McSpade—a caricature that makes your racially insensitive uncle look like a saint—wade deep into murky waters. He reflects society’s twisted humor instead of crafting it. Rape portrayed as punchlines in his early comics or “Jail Bait of the Month” scenarios? That’s Crumb’s way of saying, “Welcome to the dark side!”
Despite avoiding serious consequences, Crumb’s romantic escapades weren’t without their own whirlwind of chaos. A sitcom-worthy first marriage disintegrated like a soggy piece of toast, only to give way to a love story that was both unconventional and often a little too real. The punk era brought its own dilemmas, but instead of rolling with the punches, he chose to kill off his beloved character Mr. Natural, muttering, “Nobody likes me anymore…” Like a melodramatic teenage poet, but with more ink.
These days, one might assume Crumb would be cashing in with his work. However, his relationship with money is that of a child and broccoli—he avoids it when he can. Whether it’s turning down lucrative offers for merchandise or album covers he’d rather not endorse, there’s an odd integrity to his monetary misfires. “I turned down *Saturday Night Live*!” he might declare, with all the enthusiasm of someone who forgot to include a punchline.
A loving eulogy could be claimed for Crumb, but the irony is he’s very much alive—chilling in rural France and continuing to be an enigma for us all. Nadel took months to extract a simple shrug from him when proposing this biography, proving that even the simplest interactions with Crumb require patience more than a virtue. But hey, if you’re looking for a vivid depiction of a man who turned cartooning into an existential exploration of chaos, this biography has your back.
