Robert Crumb, known as “R Crumb” in his unending quest for punny monikers, stands tall among modern cartoonists—but let’s face it, he’s one bizarre fellow. Dan Nadel’s detailed biography serves as your ultimate roadmap through the eccentric landscape of this man’s life and work.
For many, Crumb’s claim to fame was in the so-called “normal” world, thanks mainly to his quirky illustration on the cover of the *Cheap Thrills* album by Big Brother and the Holding Company with the iconic Janis Joplin. Not to mention the elongated, stoned figures sporting the catchphrase “Keep on Truckin’”—a classic adornment for dorm room posters and the mudflaps of all trucks willing to endure artistic tomfoolery. But that’s merely the tip of the iceberg; Crumb wasn’t just the face of underground comics in the Sixties and Seventies; he was the mastermind and cover artist of *Zap Comix*, where creativity danced wildly with absurdity.
With a mind expanded by LSD and imagination unchained, Crumb introduced us to a wild array of characters—each with their own share of urges and philosophical nonsense—all crafted with his trademark hatching technique. From Mr. Natural and the Snoid to Fritz the Cat and his venerable alter ego R Crumb, our lanky protagonist, forever simmering with anxieties, became the perfect emblem of a generation’s collective neuroses.
He learned the ropes from titans like Harvey Kurtzman of *Mad* fame and Carl Barks—known incognito for his Donald Duck strips, whom Crumb affectionately dubbed “the good duck artist.” The ripple effect of Crumb’s work is evident everywhere; as Nadel argues, without him, we wouldn’t have visionary cartoonists like Art Spiegelman, Chris Ware, Joe Sacco, or Daniel Clowes. Spiegelman, of *Maus* fame, put it succinctly: “Every cartoonist has to pass through Crumb. The experience is like the accelerated evolution scene in *2001: A Space Odyssey*; you’d better inspect that monolith if you want to discover your own artistic voice.”
While undeniably a counterculture icon of the Sixties, Crumb was more of a time traveler stuck in nostalgia. His obsession with collecting ancient 78 RPM shellac records exemplifies his yearning for the past, while his artistic style hints at a love for the 19th and early 20th centuries. Despite his anticorporate politics, his harsh scrutiny of society paled in comparison to his unflinching self-examination—think less “how’s society treating me?” and more “why do I keep tripping over my own neuroses?”
Born in 1943 into a decidedly chaotic family in Philadelphia, Crumb’s upbringing was not exactly a postcard moment. His parents’ opera-worthy marital woes set the stage for a home rife with anger, violence, and, let’s just say, questionable family ties—seriously, they could have used a few family therapy sessions. His beloved older brother, with whom Crumb first drew comics, tragically succumbed to mental health issues and addiction, leaving our hero somewhat of a miracle survivor in a sea of familial turmoil.
Yet let’s not sugarcoat it: Crumb is what the younger generations would call #problematic. His caricature Angelfood McSpade often raises eyebrows, and let’s just say his handling of racial and sexual themes would require a panel of experts (preferably with a history degree). Early comics, cooked under the heat of satire, dangerously toyed with problematic themes, while he and Nadel both maintain that his work is more a mirror reflecting societal woes than an endorsement of them.
Through all his grotesque indulgences, Crumb’s self-portrayals do more than expose his id; they serve as a dark lens through which to examine society itself. After all, what’s art without a little self-depreciation? One panel quotes the fiery words of an angry woman confronting him with, “chauvinist pig… white male privilege… pervert…” while Crumb, head bowed, responds with a panicked thought bubble of “@*!!! BITCHES.” Irony much?
Sexual escapades? Oh, that’s where it gets juicy! Crumb’s big fixation—strong-legged women—becomes the subject of much jest in his work. He loved piggyback rides a tad too much, sometimes playing the role of the overly-friendly guy at the party. And while many might have found themselves behind bars or in hot water with #MeToo, Crumb somehow waded through it all with decent romantic success, albeit one fraught with baggage and broken relationships.
Fast-forward to the mid-Seventies, and Crumb faced an existential crisis. As the counterculture began its inevitable retreat, he found himself grappling with creative stagnation. After having his work lampooned by a punk fanzine, he sadly declared, “nobody likes me anymore… I’m washed up,” and proceeded to terminate Mr. Natural from existence.
But just when you think his tale settles into tragic obscurity, it swings back as auction prices for his work surged—coincidentally as he slowed down production. Surrounded by riches? Not quite. Crumb’s cavalier attitude towards money is part monkish, part absurdist comic artist; he turned down lucrative offers for album covers and quirky merch with the nonchalance of a man refusing kale at a salad bar. After a lifetime of rejecting hollow success, what remains is a method to his madness.
Now living in the serene embrace of rural France, widowed, and well into his ninth decade, Crumb is still the enigma wrapped in a caricature. When Nadel finally persuaded him to open up, Crumb’s indifference was palpable: “I’m not opposed to it.” This was after his biographer had journeyed through half of Europe just for that shrug. Truly, the life of Robert Crumb is one for the ages—and perhaps a future comic strip waiting to happen.
Crumb: A Cartoonist’s Life by Dan Nadel (Scribner £25 pp458). For those wanting their own slice of Crumb, head on over to timesbookshop.co.uk. Great discounts available for Times+ members—you won’t want to miss this quirky dive into the quirky life of one of art’s most divisive characters!
