Robert Crumb, affectionately dubbed “R. Crumb” by his overworked pen, stands tall as a seminal figure in the world of modern cartooning, embodying the delightful enigma of eccentricity. Dan Nadel’s meticulous biography offers all the juicy details you never knew you needed, or possibly wanted.
Once upon a time, the outside world knew Crumb primarily for his iconic illustration on the cover of the Janis Joplin/Big Brother and the Holding Company album, *Cheap Thrills*. And let’s not overlook those gangly stoner figures gracing dorm-room posters and truck mudflaps, reminding us all to “Keep on Truckin’.” A catchy slogan for nostalgia, but it barely scratches the surface of his legacy as the visionary behind underground comics during the swinging Sixties and Seventies, as well as the mastermind behind *Zap Comix*.
Crumb unleashed on the world a psychedelic pantheon of absurdist characters—each more lustful and philosophically dubious than the last—all meticulously hatched into existence. Who could forget Mr. Natural, the Snoid, Angelfood McSpade, and Fritz the Cat? And then there’s R. Crumb himself: a lanky figure with milk-bottle glasses, perpetually seething with anxieties and resentments, like a caricature of self-awareness gone rogue.
He took his inspiration from icons like Harvey Kurtzman of *Mad* magazine fame and Carl Barks, the elusive “good duck artist.” Crumb’s influence radiates through modern cartooning like a beacon of artistic rebellion; without him, we might not have had the likes of Art Spiegelman or Daniel Clowes. Spiegelman aptly observes, “Every cartoonist must pass through Crumb. Encountering him is akin to an evolutionary leap in 2001: A Space Odyssey—you’ve got to meet him to find your own voice.” Talk about a rite of passage!
A counterculture icon to be sure, Crumb is also something of a time traveler, forever fixated on collecting old 78rpm records while his artistic style drifts back to the 19th century. His political stances are generally anticorporate, yet his introspections often drown out any concern for the outside world, preferring to plumb the depths of his own psyche—a thrilling plunge into neuroses in the age of self-love.
Born in 1943 into a Philadelphia family that resembled a Shakespearean tragedy, Crumb’s childhood was steeped in chaos—anger, addiction, and even a bout of incestuous family drama. His older brother, a fellow comic enthusiast, etched the path to a tragic end by taking his own life in 1992 after a struggle with mental health and substance abuse. Who knew that escaping such a background would make Crumb more of a miracle than an enigma?
Of course, Crumb is highly relatable in a way that Gen Z might deem #problematic. Characters like Angelfood McSpade flaunt exaggerated stereotypes, while the disturbing sexual politics of his early comics make one wonder if the term “cringe” was invented for moments just like this. The argument he and Nadel offer? That he merely reflects the society around him, which is a compelling defense if you squint hard enough. Hey, art imitates life, right?
So instead of likely imprisonment or being canceled by #metoo, Crumb relished a healthy sexual escapade. His first marriage unraveled like a cheap sweater, making way for an eclectic love affair with Aline Kominsky—a remarkable collaboration of talents, if not a fairy tale.
As the Sixties rolled past him like a deflated balloon, he wrestled with an identity crisis. Enter the punk era, which embraced his ethos but also critiqued him harshly, dubbing Mr. Natural a “tired-out cartoon has-been.” In a melodramatic twist, he decided to kill off Mr. Natural, confessing that he was feeling “washed up.” Talk about self-awareness mixed with a pinch of melodrama!
Now let’s steer back to the modern era: Crumb’s artwork started selling like hotcakes just as he faded from the public eye. This guy was a child at heart when it came to finances. He turned down major gigs left and right, including a whopping $20,000 for a line of cuddly Mr. Natural toys because he didn’t want to be anyone’s stuffed animal. At this point, one wonders if he’s practicing the fine art of living the poet’s life—or just making poor financial decisions.
Nadel’s bio captures this remarkable, quirky man in a package that might just give you a headache from all the detail. Even if you’re new to the Crumb universe after watching Terry Zwigoff’s odd documentary, you’re in for an enlightening ride. Sure, there’s talk of print runs and legal disputes, but who wouldn’t want to read about the logistics of a mad cartoon genius?
Now almost a nonagenarian, Crumb resides in rural France, having traded in drama for landscape. When Nadel approached him for this honest portrayal, Crumb nonchalantly shrugged, hinting that discussing his life was all in a day’s work. In just a few words, Nadel captures the eccentricity of a man that lives both in the past and in the moment, a true testament to the artist’s palette.
Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). For those inspired to dive into this whimsical journey, visit timesbookshop.co.uk for a copy. Enjoy free UK standard P&P on orders over £25, because who says reading has to be expensive?
