Ah, Robert Crumb, or “R. Crumb” for those not on a first-name basis with the modern cartooning deity. A cult figure straight out of a 1960s fever dream, his biography by Dan Nadel provides all the juicy tidbits you’d need to grasp this strange, yet iconic, figure.
For ages, Crumb was best known to the masses as the guy who drew that psychedelic album cover for Janis Joplin’s Cheap Thrills—a visual that was the go-to for dorm rooms and mudflaps alike. But let’s not kid ourselves: he was the supreme overlord of underground comics during the Sixties and Seventies and the mastermind behind the infamous Zap Comix. He’s like the Godfather of modern cartooning, but with more neuroses and fewer “Leave the gun, take the cannoli” moments.
Picture this: a world of LSD-infused absurdist characters frolicking through the pages of Crumb’s comics, brought to life through his signature hatching style. From Mr. Natural to Fritz the Cat, these personalities might make you question your own sanity. And then there’s R. Crumb himself, a lanky figure with milk-bottle glasses, a veritable poster child for the neurotic artist. It’s almost like the universe created him just to balance all that cosmic weirdness.
Now, let’s not forget his mentors: Harvey Kurtzman, the anarchist genius of Mad, and Carl Barks—the “good duck artist” who drew Donald Duck when he wasn’t busy being underrated. Crumb learned from them, but here’s the kicker: every notable cartoonist from Art Spiegelman to Daniel Clowes had to confront their Crumb phase. Spiegelman puts it bluntly: “You had to pass through him to discover your own voice.” It’s like a rite of passage—cartoonists stand in line to get their Crumb-wisdom like it’s a hipster coffee shop.
Sure, Crumb is the poster boy for 1960s counterculture, but hold your horses! The reality is more convoluted. His true passion lies in collecting old 78 RPM records, and his art often acts as a nostalgic time machine, whisking us back to the past. Politically speaking, he’s anti-corporate, but don’t let that fool you; his introspective style is all about self-examination. You almost feel like you need a therapist after reading his work.
Buckle up for a bit of family drama: Crumb was born in 1943 to a lower-middle-class family rife with operatic dysfunction, violence, and, let’s be honest, a smidge of insanity. His brother, who we can safely say was not the family’s most stable pillar, took his life in 1992. So, it’s really no wonder that Crumb decided to channel his neuroses into comic genius. A miracle he emerged mostly sane, though that’s a low bar when compared to the rest of the clan.
Crumb, in all his #problematic glory, did have a knack for racial and sexual politics that often left you wondering if you should laugh or cringe. His characters, like Angelfood McSpade, are hyper-sexualized stereotypes that leave much to be desired in terms of sensitivity. Even as he tried to reflect the world around him, he ended up becoming a part of the very stereotypes he claimed to critique. It’s like he accidentally walked into a political minefield, and then just kept walking.
Despite his questionable themes, Crumb somehow managed to enjoy considerable romantic success—his first marriage, however, was a classic case of “how to ruin a good thing.” After a rollercoaster of relationships, including his long-term partnership with Aline Kominsky, he found himself shifting gears. Mired in the sludge of counterculture burnout, he attempted a comeback in the 1970s by embracing a more realistic style. Apparently, he decided to switch from groovy to gloomy overnight, much to the dismay of his fans.
Interestingly, as he aged, Crumb found his work starting to fetch sums that would make Elmer Fudd weep with jealousy—just as he decided to produce less. Why? Because money was about as important to him as understanding the stock market is to a cat. Turning down lucrative offers, like tens of thousands for a Rolling Stones album cover or a spot on Saturday Night Live, he stayed true to his artistic integrity, which is either commendable or ridiculous—or a bit of both.
Now, at the wise age of almost nine decades, he resides in rural France, where he continues to ensure that the world doesn’t forget that absurdity is still the spice of life. So if you want to know who Crumb really is, take a trip down to his little slice of paradise. Just don’t expect him to roll out the red carpet. His shrug at Nadel’s proposal was nothing short of a masterpiece in casual indifference.
