Robert Crumb, affectionately known as “R Crumb” — as if he’s too cool for full names — stands as a colossal beast in the realm of modern cartooning. And trust me, he’s not your standard comic book fare; his biography, crafted with utmost precision by Dan Nadel, unravels a man as puzzling as the plots of his own creations.
For ages, the mainstream famously recognized him from the iconic cover of Big Brother and the Holding Company/Janis Joplin’s album Cheap Thrills. Or perhaps you remember the long, lean figures sporting the slogan “Keep on Truckin’,” plastered on dorm walls and trucker mudflaps. Sure, that was just the icing on the cake. Behind those pastel hues lay the mastermind of underground comics during the Sixties and Seventies, and the savant behind Zap Comix.
Crumb’s creations form a psychedelic pantheon of characters, warped and bizarre, including Mr. Natural, the Snoid, Fritz the Cat, and our dear friend, R Crumb himself — the lanky, geeky chap with milk-bottle glasses, bubbling with neuroses that make an ordinary person’s issues look like a walk in the park. His articulately chaotic hatching brings to life an absurdist realm that feels borrowed from a long-lost Van Gogh hanging upside-down in an art gallery.
Crumb’s early influences? Let’s just say he was like a sponge soaking up the madness of Harvey Kurtzman from Mad Magazine and the enigmatic Carl Barks, who drew Donald Duck strips while trying to remain incognito. And let’s face it, without Crumb, we wouldn’t have witnessed the artistic evolution of the likes of Art Spiegelman and Daniel Clowes. Spiegelman once said, “Every cartoonist has to come to terms with Crumb.” It’s almost as if he’s the gatekeeper to a cartoonist’s creativity — you shall not pass unless you’ve been through the Crumb filter.
While Crumb rode the wave of the Sixties counterculture, he harbored a predilection for nostalgia, collecting vintage 78rpm records like a time traveler who had missed his bus. Sure, he espoused anticorporate ideals, but his real examination of the world revolved around scrutinizing himself — his neuroses, his indulgences, and yes, his rather embarrassing obsessions. He was like a cartoon character’s reflection drawn in a cracked mirror — full of distortions and truths.
Born in 1943 in a Philadelphia family more dysfunctional than a reality TV show, Crumb’s childhood was teetering on the edge of an opera gone wrong, sprinkled with a dash of madness and addiction. His beloved brother, a fellow artist, tragically became a casualty of mental health issues, leaving Robert as something of a miracle escapee from a family tree riddled with dysfunction. It’s clear — his neuroses weren’t just a drizzle on an already rich cake; they were the main ingredient!
Now, don’t get too cozy—Crumb is what the youth of today would classify as #problematic. With Angels like Angelfood McSpade, who could be mistaken for a caricature straight out of a racist cartoon, one might wonder if he was in dire need of a sensitivity consultant. Crumb’s early comics often threw around “humor” that would make today’s audience squirm, depicting themes of rape like they were the punchline to a bad joke. He claims he merely reflects society’s vices, which feels like a most artistic way of apologizing for being overtly crude.
Crumb earns his keep by preemptively indicting himself, laying bare his lusts and prejudices for all to see. One particularly awkward panel features Crumb looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, as he’s subjected to a verbal assault by an angry woman. He mumbles an apology, all while thinking, “@*!!! BITCHES.” Now that’s the kind of self-reflection we can all relate to — if only our internal monologues were illustrated.
His sexual escapades alone could fill an anthology. The avatar of Crumb had an affinity for women with legs so strong they could probably leg press a car. His antics — like demanding piggyback rides without asking — could either leave you rolling your eyes or shaking your head in disbelief. Somehow, he managed to navigate through life without facing a #MeToo reckoning, eventually entering into a partnership with Aline Kominsky, whom he collaborated and shared a life with, after the smoke cloud of his first marriage cleared away.
As the Seventies rolled in, the golden age of counterculture dimmed, and Crumb found himself falling deeper, trying to escape the Sixties while churning out narratives that bridged his experiences with a sobering realism — just in time to embrace the punk revolution that mocked him. Cue the existential crisis! He even “killed off” Mr. Natural in despair during this identity crisis. Oh, the irony!
Today, vintage Crumb art fetches astounding prices, almost like he’s risen from the grave with an artist’s resurrection. Yet, despite the money rolling in, it was never about the bucks for Crumb; money was more like a pesky fly buzzing around his head. He turned down lucrative offers, favoring his integrity over comforts — akin to a monk who can’t quite shake the lure of decadent chocolate cake.
And so now, nestled in rural France and in his ninth decade, Crumb leisurely entertains biographers in his own whimsical way. Nadel had to navigate a maze of travel just to elicit a nonchalant, “I’m not opposed to it.” Four months, folks — four months for a shrug. There’s a lesson to be learned here somewhere: never underestimate the power of noncommittal responses.
Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). For those wishing to embark on a journey into the absurd mind of Crumb, head over to timesbookshop.co.uk and brace for a wild ride — free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discounts available for Times+ members, because who doesn’t love a good bargain?
