Meet Robert Crumb, or “R. Crumb” as he signed his checks to bewildered cashiers—a giant in the world of modern cartooning who is as unique as he is eccentric. Dan Nadel’s biography meticulously details both the quirky artist and his outlandish creations.
For years, Robert was the darling of the mainstream as the man behind the infamous cover of the Big Brother and the Holding Company/Janis Joplin album Cheap Thrills and the ever-popular “Keep on Truckin’” slogan that graced countless dorm rooms and mudflaps. But this fame was merely the icing on a much stranger cake: he was the architect of the underground comics movement in the Sixties and Seventies, giving birth to the mind-bending Zap Comix.
Crumb gifted us a psychedelic pantheon of characters, each one more absurdly lustful and downright bizarre than the last. His instantly recognizable hatching brought to life folks like Mr. Natural, the Snoid, Angelfood McSpade, Fritz the Cat, and, last but certainly not least, his most complex creation—R. Crumb himself. Picture a tall, lanky figure in milk-bottle glasses, simmering with a cocktail of resentments and anxieties. Charming, isn’t it?
He cut his teeth under the tutelage of Harvey Kurtzman, the mad genius of Mad Magazine, and Carl Barks, the legendary but unappreciated creator of Donald Duck. Yet somehow, everyone from Art Spiegelman to Daniel Clowes finds themselves indebted to Crumb. As Spiegelman puts it, “Every cartoonist has to pass through Crumb,” much like a rite of passage into the cartoonist’s cult. It’s a journey that promises to test your sanity while uncovering your creative voice.
Crumb may have been a poster boy for the Sixties counterculture, but one whiff of his persona reveals a man more of his own making. His unquenchable obsession with old 78rpm shellac records speaks volumes about his yearning for a bygone era—even his cartooning style has a vintage vibe reminiscent of the 19th and early 20th centuries. Think anti-corporate politics filtered through a deep dive into his personal neuroses. It’s a real party, folks.
Born in 1943 into a Philadelphia family that redefined “dysfunctional,” Crumb’s childhood was riddled with more drama than a daytime soap opera. Picture a household rife with madness, addiction, and familial turmoil. The older brother with whom Crumb first ventured into comic creation never made it out of the chaos alive—he tragically succumbed to mental illness and substance abuse. It’s nothing short of miraculous that Robert emerged relatively functional, albeit with a lifetime’s worth of neuroses cleverly fueling his artistic endeavors.
Now, let’s talk about the elephant (or perhaps a cartoonish cat?) in the room: Crumb’s work is, shall we say, “problematic.” His character Angelfood McSpade is a hyper-erotic depiction of a caricature that raises eyebrows faster than you can say “politically correct.” Racial and sexual politics in his comics? A tangled web. He often played with disturbing themes for comedic value, with some early comics including off-color jokes that have aged worse than expired milk. His feeble defense? He merely reflects societal attitudes, darling, he doesn’t create them!
“Inch by inch, panel by panel,” Crumb holds a mirror to himself and society, capturing flaws, fantasies, and prejudices like a ghastly exhibitionist at an art fair. And while he may not earn a gold star for his portrayal of women, his musings on his own sexuality and obsessions are incredibly revealing. Guess what his big fascination is? Women with strong legs! Yes, who knew he had a thing for what should be a leg-day gym routine?
Despite a history that could make a therapist weep, Crumb enjoyed quite the romantic escapades—his first marriage crumbling like dry bread, and he played the absentee father card like a pro. Yet, alongside Aline Kominsky, he found an interesting mix of partnership and chaos. It’s the soap opera we didn’t know we needed!
As the free-spirited counterculture retreated into the shadows in the mid-seventies, Crumb tried to reinvent himself in a more downbeat, realist style. The punk scene, with its edgy ethos, struck a chord, but when mocked as a “tired-out has-been,” our cartoonist of the hour took that as a personal affront—killing off his beloved Mr. Natural in a fit of existential dread. Talk about melodrama!
Now, here’s a plot twist: Crumb’s work is trending in the fine art world, even as he takes his sweet time producing new pieces. Unfortunately, money was never his priority—turning down $20,000 for a Mr. Natural plush toy and several other lucrative offers. In what could be seen as an act of artistic integrity—or sheer stubbornness—Crumb opted for a life less ruled by the dollar sign. What a radical notion!
Today, living amidst the picturesque landscapes of rural France, Crumb is a relic of an age when comics were just starting to get weird. Nadel ventured to capture the whole man in his biography, which took more effort than persuading a toddler to eat their vegetables. Having to trek through France to get Crumb’s agreement was no easy feat, yet he managed it while maintaining the holy grail of candor.
Ultimately, “Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life” by Dan Nadel gives you all the strange, flawed hilarity and unfiltered observations you’ll ever need about this eccentric genius. It’s a wild ride through the psyche of an artist who’s anything but ordinary.
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