Meet Robert Crumb, or as he fancily inscribes, “R Crumb”—the Columbus of the cartooning cosmos and undeniably a peculiar dude. Dan Nadel’s biography dives deep into the quirks and quirks of the man who defined what it means to doodle while tripping on LSD.
For a significant stretch, he was more recognized in the “real” world for his iconic illustration of the Cheap Thrills album cover featuring Big Brother and the Holding Company and the ever-optimistic motto “Keep on Truckin’”, which became a staple in dorm rooms and affixed to 18-wheeler mudflaps everywhere. But don’t let that fool you; this was merely the tip of the iceberg. In the 60s and 70s, he became the undisputed guru of underground comics, leading the charge with Zap Comix as the cover artist and styling virtuoso.
Crumb gifted us a psychedelic pantheon of borderline lunacy—characters as absurdly lustful as they are philosophically scabrous. From Mr. Natural to Fritz the Cat, his instantly recognizable hatching style brought to life figures dripping with neuroses, not to mention R Crumb himself—a lanky caricature with milk-bottle glasses, bubbling with insecurities and existential dread. R Crumb? More like R Comically Enraged!
Our dear Robert learned the ropes from the titans of yore—Harvey Kurtzman, the unhinged mastermind of Mad, and Carl Barks, who was somehow hailed as the “good duck artist.” But here’s the kicker: Crumb is essentially the father figure all contemporary cartoonists had to cuddle up to. Without him, there would be no Art Spiegelman, no Chris Ware, and certainly no Joe Sacco—imagine a world devoid of Daniel Clowes. As Spiegelman, the illustrious author of Maus, tweets: “Encountering Crumb is like witnessing a high-speed evolution sequence from 2001—mandatory for cartoonists finding their voice.”
Despite strutting as a Sixties counterculture icon, Crumb was also a nostalgic time traveler, obsessively collecting old 78rpm shellac records while channeling his art back to the golden days of the 19th and early 20th centuries. His views are decisively anticorporate, but let’s be real—most of his reflections on society are simply a farfetched mirror into his own internal circus.
Crumb’s upbringing in a tumultuous Philadelphia home was a masterclass in dysfunction, filled with enough anger, chaos, and insecurities to fuel his artistic flame. Born in 1943, he bore witness to a marriage that could’ve been the plot of a Shakespearean tragedy. His beloved older brother never quite escaped their family’s gravitational pull, ultimately succumbing to mental health struggles and substance abuse. That Robert made it out? A small miracle. That he emerged with a tangled ball of neuroses as his weapon of choice? Not a shocker.
When discussing Crumb, it’s impossible to ignore the elephant in the room: he is the embodiment of #problematic. Characters like Angelfood McSpade tread into hyper-eroticized caricature territory, and his work often took jarring dives into racial and sexual politics—let’s just say it’s murkier than a swamp. From jokes about rape to pedophilic “Jail Bait of the Month” features—Crumb offers the defense of honesty: he didn’t create these issues; he merely reflects a society drowning in them.
Instead of meeting his maker behind bars or at a #MeToo rally, Crumb experienced unexpected romantic success. His first marriage crumbled under neglect, but he later forged a complicated yet jubilant creative partnership with Aline Kominsky. After a mid-70s block induced as counterculture lost its flair, he pivoted to a more sober style, illustrating Harvey Pekar’s reflective series American Splendor. When punk strode onto the scene, he even tried his hand but was quickly disqualified by a snarky fanzine. He eventually offed Mr. Natural, solemnly declaring, “I’m washed up.” Cue the laughter!
As Crumb now affluent—albeit having not prioritized wealth—the pendulum has swung back to favor collectors, and his works started fetching substantial sums post-retirement. Yet he’s too much of a cartoonist to let small things like “money” distract him. A self-proclaimed “monk” in a very un-monk-like life, Crumb was often shielded from his own financial mayhem by an attorney, occasionally resulting in moments of penny pinching and firm refusals of lucrative offers—a resounding “no thanks” to producing plush toys of his characters. What a rebel!
Crumb, now a widower in his golden years, resides in rural France, perhaps pondering how to dodge the whole “monetizing art” concept. When Nadel eventually sought this warts-and-all portrayal, Crumb, with a casual shrug, said, “I’m up for it,” after quite the odyssey to track him down. Four months of travel just to get that delightful nonchalance. After all, isn’t that what life’s about?
Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). Get your copy at timesbookshop.co.uk, where free UK standard P&P is available on orders over £25. Special discount for Times+ members if you’re feeling fancy!
