Cartoonist R. Crumb Assesses 21 Cultural Figures, from Dylan & Hitchcock, to Kafka & The Beatles

alex&crumb

Any fan of “under­ground” com­ic artist Robert Crumb knows that the man has no shy­ness about his pref­er­ences: not in jazz music, not in pol­i­tics, and cer­tain­ly not in the female form. Alex Wood, co-oper­a­tor of the offi­cial R. Crumb site (pic­tured with Crumb above), has dis­cov­ered that the artist’s opin­ions offer a vivid win­dow into the artist’s mind. “Over the years, talk­ing with Robert about many dif­fer­ent things, I’ve been sur­prised by some of the things he likes and dis­likes,” Wood writes. “We all know he loves old music from the ear­ly part of the last cen­tu­ry, and does­n’t like rock music. But then he says he likes Tom­my James and the Shon­dells, and Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs? So in a dis­cus­sion in May, 2011, I asked his opin­ion on a list of peo­ple in the news past and present.” This became part one of the series “Crumb on Oth­ers,” which has at this point grown to sev­en full pages.

Below, we offer you a selec­tion of the rough­ly 150 fig­ures from music, film, visu­al art, and let­ters Crumb has so far assessed, his reac­tions rang­ing from high praise to out­right dis­missal to amus­ing anec­dotes of his own encoun­ters with the lumi­nar­ies in ques­tion. With these, you can see how your notes on the likes of Bob Dylan, Alfred Hitch­cock, Philip K. Dick, and Charles Dar­win com­pare with those of the cre­ator of Fritz the Cat and Mr. Nat­ur­al, the hand that gave us “Keep on Truckin’,” and the lead­ing light of of Zap Comix — a lumi­nary who has gen­er­at­ed no small amount of high praise, out­right dis­missal, and amus­ing anec­dote him­self. Here are the remain­ing parts. Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, and Part 7.

On Mark Twain: “Tom Sawyer and Huck­le­ber­ry Finn don’t do that much for me. But his lat­er stuff, he gets more cranky as he gets old­er. His cri­tique gets more inter­est­ing. When I was 15, I read What Is Man? and it made a pro­found impres­sion on me. It changed my life. It’s all about pre­des­ti­na­tion ver­sus freewill. He was a big believ­er in pre­des­ti­na­tion. He didn’t think we had any free will.”

On Bob Dylan: “I hate his voice. I can’t stand to hear him sing. I thought some of the songs that he wrote in the mid-60s were kind of clever, with clever lyrics. But I just can’t stand to hear him or see him per­form. And I think his heart is in the right place a lot of times, you know. Some­one told me he was an afi­ciona­do of old 20s, old time music, and that he lis­tens to the same kind of stuff I like.”

On Walt Dis­ney: “When I was a lit­tle kid in the 50s, we were pro­found­ly enthralled by Dis­ney, and pro­found­ly affect­ed by the Dis­ney vision. But to my taste, the whole thing starts to decline in the ear­ly 1950s. The last one that I think is a tru­ly vision­ary work is Alice In Won­der­land. Begin­ning with Peter Pan cir­ca 1953 it starts to slide into some­thing too cor­po­rate.”

On Janis Joplin: “Sad case, very sad case. She tried to act like she was hard and tough, but she wasn’t at all. She was soft and vul­ner­a­ble. She drank a lot, and got a lot of bad advice. She was sur­round­ed by vul­tures and vam­pires and scoundrels, and they just did her in. She final­ly end­ed up face-down in her own vom­it alone in some hotel room; too much hero­in and alco­hol, 27 years old.”

On Alfred Hitch­cock: “I talked to some­body who knew Kim Novak, some old­er woman, and Kim Novak told her shock­ing things about Alfred Hitch­cock and his sex­u­al pro­cliv­i­ties. That kind of sur­prised me. I don’t know why. I guess when you look at Hitch­cock you don’t see a guy with an aggres­sive sex­u­al libido. Just goes to show you can nev­er tell a book by its cov­er. I ought to know that by now.”

On The Bea­t­les: “Some of the last stuff they did, you know, it kind of gets dark, and that’s more inter­est­ing to me, the last stuff they did before they broke up. Well, that and the music they did before they actu­al­ly start­ed record­ing under Bri­an Epstein. The only way you can hear that, I think, is to see the doc­u­men­taries where it shows them play­ing in Ham­burg and the Cav­ern Club. Before Bri­an Epstein got ahold of them and cleaned them up and made them over into those cute mop-tops and put them in those mod suits. Before that, they were greas­er guys – leather jack­ets and greasy hair. And they just played this sort of dri­ving, hard rock-a-bil­ly music. And they were real­ly good at that.”

On Pablo Picas­so: “I once wrote that I envied Picas­so, because he was the type of artist who didn’t let any­thing stand in the way of his art. He would just slam the door on his wives, his girl­friends, his chil­dren – any­body, when it was time to do his art. I always envied that about him. Also his pow­er­ful, pen­e­trat­ing, hyp­not­ic way with women. I envied that about him too.”

On Franz Kaf­ka: “Before I did that book on Kaf­ka, I had nev­er read him and didn’t know any­thing about him. But once I took that book project on, then I had to read all his stuff. And then I real­ly got to like him. And while work­ing on that project, I felt a very close kin­ship with Kaf­ka. It was very strange. I start­ed feel­ing deeply con­nect­ed to Kaf­ka some­how. Some­thing I hadn’t expect­ed at all.”

On Charles Bukows­ki: “Love ’im, love his writ­ing. He was a very dif­fi­cult guy to hang out with in per­son, but on paper he was great. One of the great Amer­i­can writ­ers of the late 20th Cen­tu­ry. [ … ] The last time I saw Bukows­ki, he came to this par­ty in San Fran­cis­co, it was a poet­ry read­ing. And these two women that I knew  they just kind of closed in on Bukows­ki. One was talk­ing to him in one ear and the oth­er was talk­ing to him in his oth­er ear. He was stand­ing there with a beer bot­tle in each hand and get­ting drunk as fast as he could. And the last moment I saw him, they were lead­ing him off to the bed­room.”

On William Bur­roughs: “He was a very eccen­tric char­ac­ter; very eccen­tric ideas and thoughts. He tried all kinds of strange, avant-garde psy­chother­a­pies. He was into psy­chic exper­i­men­ta­tion. He built him­self an orgone box based upon the the­o­ries of Wil­helm Reich. He lat­er got involved in Sci­en­tol­ogy and had this E‑meter and used it as a way to psy­chi­cal­ly clear him­self. He said it was his elec­tri­cal Oui­ja board. He tried oth­er stuff too, like out of body expe­ri­ence. I can relate to all that stuff because I’m inter­est­ed in all that fringe, psy­chic exper­i­men­ta­tion also. But he was very seri­ous about that stuff.”

On Bet­tie Page: “She had the most per­fect body and the cutest face of all in that pin­up era of the 1940s and 1950s. She was the gold stan­dard. There was nobody supe­ri­or to her phys­i­cal­ly. And her pos­es, she always looked cheer­ful and whole­some, she nev­er looked sleazy. It didn’t mat­ter if she was pos­ing in a sado­masochis­tic set­up with those high heel boots and whips, it always looks like it’s just a fun­ny game to her, you know? She could have a ball-gag in her mouth and she looks like the girl next door just hav­ing fun.”

On Woody Allen: One of my favorite movies of his was Crimes and Mis­de­meanors. It was a great movie. In that movie, there was an esteemed oph­thal­mol­o­gist, very respect­ed in his pro­fes­sion. He has this mis­tress, this neu­rot­ic woman and she’s threat­en­ing to expose him and the secret affair he’s hav­ing. She threat­ens to come over to his house and make a big scene and ruin his life. He also has a broth­er who’s involved in the crime syn­di­cate. So he goes to the broth­er and the broth­er has her killed by a pro­fes­sion­al. All the main male char­ac­ters in the movie, I’ve come to sus­pect that they’re all parts of Woody Allen’s per­son­al­i­ty. The respect­ed oph­thal­mol­o­gist is part of him; this nerdy, ide­al­is­tic doc­u­men­tary film-mak­er — that’s part of him. And there’s this real­ly arro­gant com­e­dy writer/director played by Alan Alda who plays such a jerk, and that’s part of Woody Allen also; very inter­est­ing. And I sus­pect that movie is kind of — and I don’t even know how aware of it he was — a con­fes­sion. It was right around the time that whole scan­dal with Mia Far­row’s daugh­ter hap­pened — maybe right before — because Mia Far­row was in it. But, the oph­thal­mol­o­gist gets away with it.”

On Philip K. Dick: “I’ve actu­al­ly nev­er read any of his books. All I ever read was inter­views with him and that account he gave of his reli­gious expe­ri­ence — his mys­ti­cal expe­ri­ence. The whole expe­ri­ence… the way he described it, it was great. I should read his books but I nev­er got around to it. I was nev­er big on sci­ence fic­tion, but he was always more inter­est­ing and imag­i­na­tive than a lot of sci­ence fic­tion writ­ers.” (Crumb illus­trat­ed Dick­’s “meet­ing with God.”)

On Charles Dar­win: “I nev­er real­ly read Dar­win or stud­ied much about him. I have the most broad, gen­er­al idea about his the­o­ries of nat­ur­al selec­tion and evo­lu­tion. But I do know that when a lot of upper class Eng­lish peo­ple start­ed read­ing his books, and his the­o­ries began to be wide­ly known in the 1870s, it cre­at­ed a huge change that has­n’t been wide­ly rec­og­nized by his­to­ri­ans, to my knowl­edge. Peo­ple’s atti­tudes toward reli­gion changed due to his book, par­tic­u­lar­ly in the upper class­es in Eng­land, they stopped con­sid­er­ing it their absolute duty to go to church and be a good church-going per­son. A lot of the upper class dropped out, let their church mem­ber­ship lapse. Before that. they all went to church, for appear­ance sake if noth­ing else. But after Dar­win, that all changed.”

On Jack Ker­ouac: “When I was 17, I read On The Road, and it sick­ened me, because my reac­tion was, ‘Oh God, these guys are out there hav­ing so much fun. I’m not hav­ing any fun at all. I’m just sit­ting here in my par­ents house. But them — the girls, the adven­tures, they’re just like hav­ing a fuckin’ lark On The Road.’ ”

On Jean-Paul Sartre: “A fun­ny guy, Sarte’s a fun­ny guy. You know, peo­ple don’t think of him as fun­ny because he was so seri­ous about exis­ten­tial­ism and com­mu­nism and stuff like that. [ … ] He wrote a book about his child­hood that was pret­ty fun­ny. It’s very self-dep­re­cat­ing, and he writes about what a lit­tle bour­geois, arro­gant shit he was as a kid. Fun­ny guy, I like Sarte.”

On Michelan­ge­lo: “The guy is just like glo­ri­fy­ing the male body. It’s all about writhing, mus­cu­lar male bod­ies. And even the women, they have male bod­ies with tits past­ed on. The guy’s not into women, you can tell. He’s not into fem­i­nine at all. He’s not inter­est­ed in the round, ellip­ti­cal charms of the female form. No, he’s inter­est­ed in the lumpy, mus­cu­lar male body. And the whole [Sis­tine] Chapel is noth­ing but that.”

On Hen­ry Miller:  “Just like Ker­ouac, I was about nine­teen when I read him, and again, I was dev­as­tat­ed because he was hav­ing too much fuck­ing fun. He was fuck­ing so many women. He was so suc­cess­ful with women, it made me sick. He’d brag about how he came on to some woman on the street and end­ed up fuck­ing her in the bush­es. I thought, ‘God, how does he do that?’ It made me sick with envy. But try­ing to read him lat­er, I thought he was way, way, too long-wind­ed. I thought he need­ed seri­ous edit­ing.”

On Orson Welles: “I don’t under­stand why some peo­ple are so impressed by that guy. The most enter­tain­ing Orson Welles thing I’ve ever heard was some out­takes from a radio com­mer­cial that he was doing. And he’s real­ly in a bad mood and he’s insult­ing the pro­duc­ers and tech­ni­cians in the stu­dio and telling them, ‘This is a lot of shit I hope you know.’ ”

On Hunter Thomp­son: “I met him a cou­ple of times. He used to hang out at that Mitchell Broth­ers The­ater on O’Far­rell Street in San Fran­cis­co, which was a strip joint run by the Mitchell Broth­ers. There was this kind of like Irish-Jour­nal­ist-Mafia that used to hang around there. He and these oth­er Irish char­ac­ters from San Fran­cis­co who were into jour­nal­ism there, news­pa­per guys, they hung around there for some rea­son, I don’t know why. But Thomp­son did a lot of cocaine and drank, and then he would go on these long ‘cocaine raps,’ rant­i­ng and rav­ing. But by the time I met him, y’ know, he was already well-advanced to being real­ly fuck­ing out of his mind.”

On Mar­tin Scors­ese: “I think Good­fel­las is prob­a­bly the best film about the mod­ern Amer­i­can crime syn­di­cates. Casi­no was kind of a fol­low-up to Good­fel­las, and I did­n’t think it was quite as good. Prob­a­bly Good­fel­las got so much praise it kind of went to his head so every­body got togeth­er and made this indul­gent film. It had it’s good parts, it was good, it just was­n’t as good as Good­fel­las. For one thing, there were too many close ups on DeNiro’s face. I just kept want­i­ng the cam­era to back-off. OK, you think the guy’s great look­ing, but Jesus, OK, it’s enough, back-off!”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb: A Por­trait Script­ed by the Under­ground Comics Leg­end Him­self (1987)

Record Cov­er Art by Under­ground Car­toon­ist Robert Crumb

A Short His­to­ry of Amer­i­ca, Accord­ing to the Irrev­er­ent Com­ic Satirist Robert Crumb

R. Crumb’s Heroes of Blues, Jazz & Coun­try Fea­tures 114 Illus­tra­tions of the Artist’s Favorite Musi­cians

Robert Crumb Illus­trates Philip K. Dick’s Infa­mous, Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Meet­ing with God (1974)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

Howard Zinn’s “What the Classroom Didn’t Teach Me About the American Empire”: An Illustrated Video Narrated by Viggo Mortensen

“Through­out U.S. his­to­ry, our mil­i­tary has been used not for moral pur­pos­es but to expand eco­nom­ic, polit­i­cal, and mil­i­tary pow­er,” says a car­toon Howard Zinn in Mike Konopacki’s 273-page com­ic book A People’s His­to­ry of Amer­i­can Empire. Writ­ten with Zinn and his­to­ri­an Paul Buh­le, the book adapts Zinn’s path­break­ing his­to­ry from below, A People’s His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States, and his auto­bi­og­ra­phy You Can’t be Neu­tral on a Mov­ing Train in a direct exam­i­na­tion of the U.S. Imperi­um. Konopac­ki calls the book his “answer” to the text­books of “the pow­er struc­ture.” (Explore high­lights from the com­ic his­to­ry here.)

Above, you can see a short video adap­ta­tion of some key text from A People’s His­to­ry of Amer­i­can Empire. Nar­rat­ed by Vig­go Mortensen, the video gives us a nut­shell ver­sion of Zinn’s cul­tur­al, polit­i­cal, and moral education—what the Ger­mans used to call bil­dung—as he grows from a some­what naive WWII bomber pilot, to a col­lege stu­dent on the G.I. Bill, to a grad­u­ate stu­dent, then pro­fes­sor, of his­to­ry.

Along the way he notices that the map in every text­book labeled “West­ern Expan­sion” shows “the march across the con­ti­nent as a nat­ur­al, almost bio­log­i­cal phe­nom­e­non”:

That huge acqui­si­tion of land called the Louisiana Pur­chase gave no hint of any­thing but vacant land acquired, no sense that this ter­ri­to­ry was occu­pied by hun­dreds of Indi­an tribes that would have to be anni­hi­lat­ed or forced out of their homes in what we now call eth­nic cleans­ing.

Zinn goes on to chart the rise of U.S. Impe­ri­al­ism into the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry as the increas­ing­ly mil­i­ta­rized nation seizes Mex­i­can ter­ri­to­ry and invades Cuba and the Philip­pines. Then we come to the osten­si­bly anti-com­mu­nist “police actions” in Korea and Viet­nam, and Zinn’s high­ly influ­en­tial 1967 book Viet­nam: The Log­ic of With­draw­al. When entrust­ed by Daniel Ells­berg with hun­dreds of pages of the Pen­ta­gon Papers, Zinn learns that the war in Viet­nam is large­ly waged for the same rea­sons as our oth­er impe­ri­al­ist moves abroad: the papers “spoke blunt­ly of the U.S. motives as a quest for tin, rub­ber, oil.”

But what of the war Zinn begins with, the war in which he fought? Near the end of the short film, he returns to his days as a WWII bomber, when he heard a fel­low pilot argue that the U.S. was as “moti­vat­ed by ambi­tions of con­trol and con­quest” as its ene­mies. He dis­agreed at the time, but in the inter­ven­ing years came to see his fel­low airman’s point. What we get with our ide­al­ism about any war, Zinn says, is a seem­ing “Impe­ri­al­ism lite,” whose motives are benign. Soft pow­er, we’re told, wins the day now. But peel back the cur­tain on our actions in the world, and we will see the same atroc­i­ties, the same cru­el­ties, and the same basic moti­va­tions as every oth­er act of impe­ri­al­ist aggres­sion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Howard Zinn Dies at 87

Wel­come to the Plu­toc­ra­cy! Bill Moy­ers Presents the First Howard Zinn Lec­ture

Pulitzer Prize Win­ner Picks Essen­tial US His­to­ry Books

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Pulp Fiction Archive: The Cheap, Thrilling Stories That Entertained a Generation of Readers (1896–1946)

Phantm_d

For the first half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, pulp mag­a­zines were a quin­tes­sen­tial form of Amer­i­can enter­tain­ment. Print­ed on cheap, wood pulp paper, the “pulps” (as opposed to the “glossies” or “slicks,” such as The New York­er) had names like The Black Mask and Amaz­ing Sto­ries, and promised read­ers sup­pos­ed­ly true accounts of adven­ture, exploita­tion, hero­ism, and inge­nu­ity. Such out­lets offered a steady stream of work for sta­bles of fic­tion writ­ers, with con­tent rang­ing from short sto­ries about intre­pid explor­ers sav­ing damsels from Nazis/Communists (depend­ing on the pre­cise time of pub­li­ca­tion) to nov­el-length man vs. beast accounts of courage and cun­ning. This, inci­den­tal­ly, gave birth to the term “pulp fic­tion,” pop­u­lar­ized in the 1990s by Quentin Tarantino’s epony­mous film.

In the 1950s, the pulps went into a steep decline. In addi­tion to tele­vi­sion, paper­back nov­els, and com­ic books, the pulps were over­tak­en by the more explic­it, and even low­er brow men’s adven­ture mag­a­zines (read­ers of Tru­man Capote’s In Cold Blood may remem­ber Per­ry Smith, the socio­path­ic mis­fit who mur­dered the Clut­ter fam­i­ly, being an enthu­si­as­tic read­er of these ear­ly lads’ mags). Thanks to The Pulp Mag­a­zines Project, how­ev­er, many of the most famous pub­li­ca­tions remain acces­si­ble today through a well-designed online inter­face. Hun­dreds of issues have been archived in the data­base that spans from 1896 through to 1946. It includes large mag­a­zines, such as The Argosy and Adven­ture, and small­er, more spe­cial­ized fare, such as Air Won­der Sto­ries and Bas­ket­ball Sto­ries. Although good writ­ing occa­sion­al­ly made its way into the pulps, don’t expect these mag­a­zines to mir­ror the lit­er­ary depth of seri­al­ized pub­li­ca­tions of the 19th cen­tu­ry; rather, the archive pro­vides a ter­rif­i­cal­ly enter­tain­ing look at the pop­u­lar read­ing of ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca.

To browse the com­plete data­base, head over to The Pulp Mag­a­zines Project.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Gives Sneak Peek of Pulp Fic­tion to Jon Stew­art (1994)

Isaac Asi­mov Recalls the Gold­en Age of Sci­ence Fic­tion (1937–1950)

Did Shake­speare Write Pulp Fic­tion? (No, But If He Did, It’d Sound Like This)

Down­load 14 Great Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Philip K. Dick as Free Audio Books and Free eBooks

The History of Economics & Economic Theory Explained with Comics, Starting with Adam Smith

economix adam smith

“Every­one has ques­tions about the econ­o­my. I start­ed look­ing for the answers in eco­nom­ics. I found enough insights to get me inter­est­ed, but I could­n’t seem to make the insights add up. I went back to the orig­i­nal sources, the great econ­o­mists, and start­ed to see a big pic­ture. And while the whole pic­ture was com­pli­cat­ed, no one part of it was all that hard to under­stand. I could see that all this infor­ma­tion made a sto­ry. But I could­n’t find a book that told the sto­ry in an acces­si­ble way. So I decid­ed to write one, in the most acces­si­ble form I knew: comics.”

Thus begins Michael Good­win’s new book Economix: How Our Econ­o­my Works (and Does­n’t Work) in Words and Pic­tures.

The book cov­ers two (plus) cen­turies of eco­nom­ic his­to­ry. It starts with the Phys­iocrats, Adam Smith and the­o­ret­i­cal devel­op­ment of cap­i­tal­ism, and then steams ahead into the 19th cen­tu­ry, cov­er­ing the Indus­tri­al Rev­o­lu­tion, the rise of big busi­ness and big finance. Next comes the action packed 20th cen­tu­ry: the Great Depres­sion, the New Deal, the threat from Com­mu­nism dur­ing the Cold War, the tax reforms of the Rea­gan era, and even­tu­al­ly the crash of 2008 and Occu­py Wall Street. Along the way, Good­win and the illus­tra­tor Dan E. Burr demys­ti­fy the eco­nom­ic the­o­ries of fig­ures like Ricar­do, Marx, Malthus, Keynes, Fried­man and Hayek — all in a sub­stan­tive but approach­able way.

As with most treat­ments of mod­ern eco­nom­ics, the book starts with Adam Smith. To get a feel for Good­win’s approach, you can dive into the first chap­ter of Economix, which grap­ples with Smith’s the­o­ries about the free mar­ket, divi­sion of labor and the Invis­i­ble Hand. Economix can be pur­chased online here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Intro­duc­tion to Great Econ­o­mists — Adam Smith, the Phys­iocrats & More — Pre­sent­ed in a Free Online Course

60-Sec­ond Adven­tures in Eco­nom­ics: An Ani­mat­ed Intro to The Invis­i­ble Hand and Oth­er Eco­nom­ic Ideas

Read­ing Marx’s Cap­i­tal with David Har­vey (Free Course)

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 11 ) |

T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” Gets Adapted As a Comic Book

prufrockPeters1

Poet­ry is as close as writ­ten lan­guage comes to the visu­al arts but, aside from nar­ra­tive poems, it is not a medi­um eas­i­ly adapt­ed to visu­al forms. Per­haps some of the least adapt­able, I would think, are the high mod­ernists, whose obses­sive focus on tech­nique ren­ders much of their work opaque to all but the most care­ful read­ers. The major poems of T.S. Eliot per­haps best rep­re­sent this ten­den­cy. And yet com­ic artist Julian Peters is up to the chal­lenge. Peters, who has pre­vi­ous­ly adapt­ed Poe, Keats, and Rim­baud, now takes on Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” and you can see the first nine pages at his site.

Writ­ten in 1910 and pub­lished five years lat­er, “Prufrock” has become a stan­dard ref­er­ence for Eliot’s doc­trine of the “objec­tive cor­rel­a­tive,” a con­cept he defines in his crit­i­cal essay, “Ham­let and His Prob­lems,” as “a set of objects, a sit­u­a­tion, a chain of events which shall be the for­mu­la of that par­tic­u­lar emo­tion.” It’s a the­o­ry he elab­o­rates in “Tra­di­tion and the Indi­vid­ual Tal­ent” in his dis­cus­sion of Dante. And Dante is where “Prufrock” begins, with an epi­graph from the Infer­no. Peters’ first page illus­trates the ago­nized speak­er of Dante’s lines, Gui­do da Mon­te­fel­tro, a soul con­fined to the eighth cir­cle, whom you can see at the top of the title page shown above. Peters’ visu­al choic­es place us firm­ly in the hell­ish emo­tion­al realm of “Prufrock,” a seem­ing cat­a­logue of the mun­dane that har­bors a dark­er import. Peters gives us no hint of when we might expect new pages, but I for one am eager to see more.

via The Rum­pus

Relat­ed Con­tent:

T.S. Eliot’s Rad­i­cal Poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” Read by Antho­ny Hop­kins and Eliot Him­self

T.S. Eliot Reads His Mod­ernist Mas­ter­pieces “The Waste Land” and “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

Hear Gertrude Stein Read Works Inspired by Matisse, Picas­so, and T.S. Eliot (1934)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

R. Crumb’s Heroes of Blues, Jazz & Country Features 114 Illustrations of the Artist’s Favorite Musicians

CrumbHeroes

It was one of my favorite gifts of Christ­mas 2006. No, all apolo­gies to every­one who bought me thought­ful gew­gaws, but it was, with­out a doubt, the favorite. A hum­ble, unas­sum­ing pack­age con­tained a ver­i­ta­ble ency­clo­pe­dia of Amer­i­cana: over one hun­dred por­traits of jazz, blues, and coun­try artists from the gold­en eras of Amer­i­can music, all drawn by a fore­most anti­quar­i­an of pre-WWII music, R. Crumb. Beside each portrait—some made with Crumb’s exag­ger­at­ed pro­por­tions and thick-lined shad­ing, some soft­er and more realist—was a brief, one-para­graph bio, just enough to sit­u­ate the singer, play­er, or band with­in the pan­theon.

Though a fan of this sort of thing may think that it could get no bet­ter, glued to the back cov­er was a slip­case con­tain­ing a CD with 21 tracks—seven from each genre. A quick scan showed a few famil­iar names: Skip James, Char­lie Pat­ton, Jel­ly Roll Mor­ton. Then there were such unknown enti­ties as Mem­phis Jug Band, Crockett’s Ken­tucky Moun­taineers, and East Texas Ser­e­naders, culled from Crumb’s enor­mous, library-size archive of rare 78s. Joy to the world.

Crumb’s Heroes of Blues, Jazz & Coun­try began in the 80s with a series of illus­trat­ed trad­ing cards, as you can see in the video above (which only cov­ers the blues and jazz cor­ners of the tri­an­gle). The first cards, “Heroes of the Blues,” came attached to old-time reis­sues from the Yazoo record com­pa­ny. Even­tu­al­ly expand­ing the cards to include jazz and coun­try, work­ing in each cat­e­go­ry from old pho­tos or news­reel footage, Crumb cov­ered quite a lot of musi­co-his­tor­i­cal ground. Archivists and authors Stephen Calt, David Jasen, and Richard Nevins wrote the short blurbs. Final­ly Yazoo, rather than issu­ing the cards indi­vid­u­al­ly with each record, com­bined them into boxed sets.

The book—which val­i­dates my sense that this music belongs togeth­er cheek by jowl, even if some of its par­ti­sans can’t stand each other’s company—evolved through a painstak­ing process in which Crumb redrew and recol­ored the orig­i­nal illus­tra­tions from the print­ed trad­ing cards (the orig­i­nal art­work hav­ing dis­ap­peared). You can fol­low one step of that process in a detailed descrip­tion of Crumb’s con­ver­sion of the blues cards to a silkscreened poster. Crumb’s process is as thor­ough as his peri­od knowl­edge. But Crumb fans know that the com­ic artist’s rev­er­ence for Amer­i­cana goes beyond his col­lect­ing and extends to his own ver­sion of kitchen-sink blue­grass, blues, and jazz. Lis­ten to Crumb on the ban­jo above with his Cheap Suit Ser­e­naders. And if any­one feels like get­ting me a Christ­mas present this year, I’d like a copy of their record Chasin Rain­bows. On vinyl of course.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Short His­to­ry of Amer­i­ca, Accord­ing to the Irrev­er­ent Com­ic Satirist Robert Crumb

Record Cov­er Art by Under­ground Car­toon­ist Robert Crumb

The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb: A Por­trait Script­ed by the Under­ground Comics Leg­end Him­self (1987)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Hergé Draws Tintin in Vintage Footage (and What Explains the Character’s Enduring Appeal)

“Tintin addicts are a mixed bunch,” writes New York­er crit­ic Antho­ny Lane, pro­fil­ing the beloved plus fours-clad, quiff-topped adven­tur­er and there­by reveal­ing him­self as one of the afflict­ed. “Steven Spiel­berg and Peter Jack­son [have] a three-pic­ture deal to bring Tintin to the big screen. I once heard Hugh Grant declare on a radio pro­gram that if he could take only one book to a desert island it would be King Ottokar’s Scep­tre (1939). [ … ] Gen­er­al de Gaulle declared that Tintin was his only inter­na­tion­al rival — he was envi­ous, per­haps, not just of Tintin’s fame but of the defi­ant­ly pos­i­tive atti­tude that he came to rep­re­sent.” Despite com­ing from Amer­i­ca, one of the few coun­tries nev­er to have tak­en whole­heart­ed­ly to the char­ac­ter, I too have read and re-read the 23 full-length com­ic books (or as we call them nowa­days, graph­ic nov­els) in which he stars, and I too envy his qual­i­ties, espe­cial­ly the use­ful amor­phous­ness of his iden­ti­ty: nei­ther man nor boy; nei­ther tra­di­tion­al nor mod­ern; pre­sum­ably Bel­gian, though for prac­ti­cal pur­pos­es state­less and apo­lit­i­cal; osten­si­bly a reporter, but no appar­ent need ever to file a sto­ry.

The late Har­ry Thomp­son sure­ly ranks as a top Tintin addict. A radio and tele­vi­sion pro­duc­er, com­e­dy writer, nov­el­ist, and cre­ator of Have I Got News for You, he also great­ly advanced the wide­spread avo­ca­tion of Eng­lish-lan­guage Tinti­nol­o­gy with his book Tintin: Hergé and his Cre­ation, pub­lished in 1991. Three years lat­er, he would star in this episode of Lon­don Week­end Tele­vi­sion’s doc­u­men­tary series Open­ing Shot on Tintin and his cre­ator (part one at the top, click for two and three). His analy­sis swift­ly assures any adult read­er just how and why they should go about pick­ing up and appre­ci­at­ing the tru­ly painstak­ing crafts­man­ship of these comics they so rel­ished in their youth. The broad­cast also fea­tures com­men­tary from Tintin’s Eng­lish trans­la­tors and, through archival footage, from Georges “Hergé” Remi him­self (seen draw­ing Tintin just above, and his com­pan­ion Cap­tain Had­dock below). Final­ly, we hear from more typ­i­cal Tintin read­ers in man-on-the-street inter­views — or rather, pre­co­cious-British-child-in-the-book­store inter­views: “My favorite char­ac­ter is Snowy, because he says real­ly rude things.” “My favorite book is Tintin in Amer­i­ca, because I like red Indi­ans.” How many of these kids, near­ly two decades on, can have resist­ed the siren song of Tinti­nol­o­gy them­selves?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Inscrutable Imag­i­na­tion of the Late Com­ic Artist Mœbius

Vis­it the World of Lit­tle Nemo Artist Win­sor McCay: Three Clas­sic Ani­ma­tions and a Google Doo­dle

The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb: A Por­trait Script­ed by the Under­ground Comics Leg­end Him­self (1987)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Robert Crumb Illustrates Philip K. Dick’s Infamous, Hallucinatory Meeting with God (1974)

CrumbExperienceofPKD

“I saw God,” Fat states, and Kevin and I and Sher­ri state, “No, you just saw some­thing like God, exact­ly like God.” And hav­ing spoke, we do not stay to hear the answer, like jest­ing Pilate, upon his ask­ing, “What is truth?”

–Philip K. Dick, VALIS

In the months of Feb­ru­ary and March, 1974, Philip K. Dick met God, or some­thing like God, or what he thought was God, at least, in a hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry expe­ri­ence he chron­i­cled in sev­er­al obses­sive­ly dense diaries that recent­ly saw pub­li­ca­tion as The Exe­ge­sis of Philip K. Dick, a work of deeply per­son­al theo-philo­soph­i­cal reflec­tion akin to Carl Jung’s The Red Book. What­ev­er it was he encountered—Dick was nev­er too dog­mat­ic about it—he end­ed up refer­ring to it as Zebra, or by the acronym VALIS, Vast Active Liv­ing Intel­li­gence Sys­tem, also the title of a nov­el detail­ing the expe­ri­ences of one very PKD-like char­ac­ter with the improb­a­ble name of “Horselover Fat.”

LSD-trig­gered psy­chot­ic break, gen­uine reli­gious expe­ri­ence, or some­thing else entire­ly, what­ev­er Dick’s encounter meant, he didn’t let the oppor­tu­ni­ty to turn it into art slip by him, and nei­ther did out­sider car­toon­ist and PKD fan Robert Crumb. In issue #17 of the under­ground comix mag­a­zine Weirdo, Crumb nar­rat­ed and illus­trat­ed Dick’s meet­ing with a divine intel­li­gence in the appro­pri­ate­ly titled “The Reli­gious Expe­ri­ence of Philip K. Dick.” It was even­tu­al­ly col­lect­ed in the edi­tion, The Weirdo Years by R. Crumb: 1981-’93. (See the com­ic in motion in the awk­ward, ama­teur video above.) The com­ic quotes direct­ly from Dick’s telling of the event, which began with a wis­dom tooth extrac­tion and was ulti­mate­ly trig­gered by a gold­en Chris­t­ian fish sym­bol worn around the neck of a phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal deliv­ery girl. Most PKD fans will be famil­iar with the sto­ry, whether they treat it as gospel or not, but to see it illus­trat­ed with such empa­thet­ic inten­si­ty by Crumb is tru­ly a treat.

If you only know Crumb as the cre­ator of las­civ­i­ous Rube­nesque women and schlub­by, drug­gy horn­dog hip­sters (like Fritz the Cat), you may be sur­prised by these emo­tion­al­ly real­ist illus­tra­tions. If you know Crumb’s more seri­ous work, like his take on the book of Gen­e­sis, you won’t. In either case, fans of Dick, Crumb, or—most likely—both, won’t want to miss this.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 14 Great Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Philip K. Dick as Free Audio Books and Free eBooks

Philip K. Dick Pre­views Blade Run­ner: “The Impact of the Film is Going to be Over­whelm­ing” (1981)

The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb: A Por­trait Script­ed by the Under­ground Comics Leg­end Him­self (1987)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast