David Hajdu, "The Ten-Cent Plague" (2008).

I was a bit surprised a week or so ago to learn that my father had bought me a "pre-Xmas present". He told me to look for a package, and explained that he sent me the gift because he thought I would be particularly interested in it. I had no idea what to expect, and so I awaited it with anticipation. When it arrived, I can honestly say I was puzzled. It was a a book by David Hadju (with whom I was completely unfamiliar), and it was entitled The Ten-Cent Plague. By scanning its jacket (which featured a great drawing by Charles Burns, one of my favorite cartoonists) I learned that it was a history of a period during the early development of the comics. It focused on the 1930's through the 50's, during which the new artform came under increasingly intense criticism.

While I am certainly a fan of (what I can only refer to as) "alt-comics", I didn't have a lot of curiosity about genre comics, with superheroes and the like. Still I resolved to plow through Hajdu's study, and hoped that it would give me some insight into the stuff I choose to read now. It started off with a fairly comprehensive look at the invention of the form, and an explanation of how a brand new industry sprouted to produce these "picture books". At the very start, comics did not necessarily focus on men in tights at all, but rather tended to reflect the existing genres of entertainment- horror, crime, war, romance, early sci-fi, and comedy. They were almost exclusively targeted to adolescents.

Hajdu did a good job at conveying the spirit and the attitude of the early comic creators. Fortunately for his book, many of the major players from the beginning were still alive for him to interview, including Will Eisner, Charles Biro, Bill Gaines, Al Feldstein, Bernie Krigstein, Will Elder, Harvey Kurtzman, etc. These now iconic figures spoke of their free-wheeling approaches to a brand new entertainment medium. As comics reached the end of their first decade of existence, they were so novel that the field was wide open, and for all intents and purposes without limits other than market-driven concerns. This freedom allowed sales to increase astronomically and individual creativity to flourish.

Many of the businessmen, artists, and writers that made comics were from minority groups that had nowhere else to become successful. As a result a lot of the content reflected an outsider perspective that tended to glorify facets of society that many conventionally-accepted adults found troubling. But the kids loved it! The more extreme, the better- gore, lust, perversity, violence, and general mayhem prevailed. And then the authorities noticed, and a reactionary backlash followed. The Catholic Church, professors of education, psychiatrists, and some of the more prudish politicians began to bemoan the general lack of respect for authority exhibited in comics. They began to accuse the comic companies of contributing to juvenile delinquency.

Obviously there are modern-day parallels to other forms of youthful amusement. Over the years, movies, television, cartoons, rock-and-roll, and videogames have all taken their turn at being vilified. Society is always looking for a scapegoat for the "wicked ways" of its members... especially the kids. However the level of vitriol and shrill hysteria over comics was amazing to read about. It didn't take long for the powers-that-be to work together with the cultural guardians, and crush the independence and sheer fun of comics. It took decades for the form to recover even a smidgen of its relevance and energy. Ultimately The Ten-Cent Plague tells a larger story about who we are, and who we've been, as a nation.

"Kramer's Ergot #7" Book Tour @ Brillobox.

In terms of traveling performers, Pittsburgh has long been sort of a flyover town (or perhaps more appropriately a drive-by destination). For regional and national bands, this has largely been the result of a prohibitive entertainment tax that makes it a bit more difficult for smaller acts to make a stop. Various fanatics have had to travel to Cleveland, DC, and/or Philly to catch their favorites live. While it can be fun to make a road trip, this situation is a bit of a black mark on the city's cultural scene. Considering the relatively low cost of living in town, it's also incongruous. It's hard to make an exact assessment of how this affects local artists, but I'd guess it dampens interest in general.

Fortunately not everybody makes a wide berth around the 'Burgh. Apparently some entertainers wouldn't even consider skipping the Steel City. Such is the case with a small group of rather obscure comics artists who will be appearing at the Brillobox (4104 Penn Ave) tomorrow night. The visit marks the release of a collection of work called Kramer's Ergot 7, the latest in a series of annual publications that showcases the cutting edge of alt comics. A varying selection of creators will be appearing to promote the new book. They are making a limited tour of eight American cities, including L.A., NYC, Baltimore, Toronto, Chicago, Providence, and Montreal. Certainly our hometown is in rarefied company.

I imagine that the significance of this event will elude most people. After all, there are still some among us that believe that the comics form is limited to men in tights and newspaper strips. But the fact is that if you are interested in drawing, the place to see the best modern practitioners is probably at your local neighborhood independent comics store. In our case that is the Copacetic Comics Company (1505 Asbury Place, 15217), the Squirrel Hill establishment that is sponsoring tomorrow's activities. Proprietor Bill Boichel has been providing our area with the finest comic product for a couple of decades, and it is a tribute to his knowledge and good taste that the Kramer's Ergot folks have graced us with their presence.

Truly some of the best cartoonists of the modern age will be around to promote KE7. Naturally series editor Sammy Harkham will be present. Without his tireless efforts, this showcase wouldn't even exist. But he has somehow convinced a number of outstanding contributors to join him, including Kevin Huizenga, John Pham, Ron Regé, Jr., Frank Santoro, and Matthew Thurber. If you are not familiar with these guys, you really ought to do some net surfing. In a way, I envy you, because I realize the stimulating discoveries that you are about to make. On the other hand, if you are already a fan of alt comics, then you know the incredible quality that these artists deliver. These are not minor players.

So what's the occasion? If there have been six Kramer's Ergot collections previously, why is this the first national tour featuring an impressive lineup? Well, this edition dwarfs the previous books in the series... literally. Its size is 16" x 21", and intended to reference the Sunday paper comic sections that are so reverentially remembered by connoisseurs of the medium. It includes a spectrum of the best artists working today, including luminaries like Matt Groening, Dan Clowes, Kim Deitch, Seth, Adrian Tomine, and Chris Ware. And it's virtually all-new, with individual pieces specifically created for the unusual format size. As Bill says, "The equally amazing renaissance that comics is currently undergoing will likely come to be symbolized in some fashion by this very volume of Kramers Ergot." You don't want to miss this event.



*This stop on the KE7 National Book Tour is open to all ages this Thursday, December 4th, 2008, from 5pm - 9pm @ Brillobox (4104 Penn Avenue). There will be additional local creators and products available at the event, including items from Unicorn Mountain and Encyclopedia Destructica. So bring your cash, suckas.

Dash Shaw, "Bottomless Belly Button" (2008).

Dash Shaw is one of the youngest rising stars of alternative comics, and of course that means that you've never heard of him. You won't be able to find his graphic novels at the large corporate chain of your nearest strip mall. In fact you'll likely have difficulty getting your hands on his just-published Bottomless Belly Button, regardless of where you do your shopping. But if you want a substantial work of art in book form, you'll go to Amazon today and order your own copy. I had a hard time getting mine. It took several stops to my reliable local indie comics store. Fortunately for me I'm a valued repeat customer, because this title seems to have quickly sold out of its first edition. I'm sure there will be more on the way, but I can't say when.

What's particularly shocking about the commercial success of Bottomless Belly Button is that it carries a retail price of $29.95. That's a hefty price for a graphic novel by any cartoonist. But for a relatively unknown quantity, it's almost unheard of. The truth is that before this publication few (even among alt comix fans) had even heard of Dash Shaw. Still, reviews of BBB's quality have passed by word-of-mouth within my little subsection of the underground consumer demographic. This is a 720-page epic detailing six days in the life of the Loony family. However, don't let the surname throw you- this isn't a wacky brood. These aren't the Simpsons or the Bundys. They are fully fleshed-out characters with complex personalities and real-life concerns.

David and Maggie Loony are the eldest members of the clan, and they are the reason why this mostly estranged group comes together at the book's beach house setting. After 40 years of marriage they are getting a divorce. Their three children (Claire, Dennis, and Peter) all have their own ways of dealing with the shake-up. Dennis, who is accompanied by his wife (Aki) and baby son, is driven to seek out a buried reason for the impending separation. Claire (who has teenage daughter Jill in tow) has already been through her own divorce, and is trying her best to be supportive. And then there's Peter, who alone among all of Shaw's characters is anthropomorphized, and (almost) exclusively portrayed with a frog's head.

In more than one way, Peter seems the black sheep of the family. He's a would-be filmmaker who is floating through the confusion of young adulthood with the aid of chronic masturbation and beer. It's clear that at 26 he lacks experience with the ladies, but Peter gets his chance to address that deficit when he meets a youth counselor (Kat) on the beach. While each of his relatives go through their own personal dramas back at the house, Peter stumbles on to what appears to be his first love. The emphasis on the nature of relationships, both old and new, underscores the entire tale that Shaw shares with the reader. There is much to be said for his deft and subtle touch in showing personal dynamics, rather than feeling some need to explicate every inner detail.

Shaw accomplishes his achievement with a tremendous facility for conveying inner emotional states through movement and facial expression. He adds to those skills an eye for telling details and skewed perspectives. All of this is filtered through a loose and slightly-quivering line style that somehow lends a fragile and wistful tone to the story (I thought alternatively of John Porcellino and Jeffrey Brown). Bottomless Belly Button is a series of moments chained together to form a gestalt that coalesces only gradually through accumulation. Shaw wants you to take time with his creation, which only seems fair as it must have taken an inordinate amount of hours to complete. It is broken up into three parts, and he asks the reader to take a break in between each. I respected his wishes and was rewarded with a genuinely moving experience.

Aline Kominsky-Crumb, "Need More Love: A Graphic Memoir" (2007).

Despite the relative obscurity that most art comix creators toil in, a large proportion of the literate United States has no doubt heard of R. Crumb. The cartoonist has become a sort of cultural icon, from his youthful days in the vanguard of the revolutionary 60's to his eventual embrace by the fine art world. His work has been featured in museum retrospectives and his life has been documented on film by noted director and personal friend Terry Zwigoff (Crumb, 1994). Even though such recognition has chased him to an expatriate existence in France, he remains one of the most important American social critics of our time. Virtually every corner of his psyche has been examined, but still there is a glaring gap in this analysis.

Throughout the last three-and-a-half decades, Robert Crumb has lived and worked with his current wife- Aline Ricky Goldsmith Kominsky-Crumb. This extraordinary woman has made her own significant contributions to comics, and has slowly built a modest following of fans and admirers. Perhaps the second cartoonist to portray herself in a series of autobiographical comix (after Justin Green), Kominsky-Crumb was first recognized for her work in San Francisco, when she joined with a collective of female artists who were putting out an anthology called Wimmen's Comix. As her relationship with her legendary partner developed, she became increasingly at odds with Trina Robbins, who brought a heavy strain of feminism into the the collective.

Kominsky-Crumb would eventually split off to initiate a collaboration with Diane Noomin, and thus the Twisted Sisters series was born. Through this publication, the pair would encourage a broader spectrum of possibilities and perspectives from women artists. Simultaneously the Crumbs put together and co-edited the tremendously influential Wierdo anthology- a project that (along with Art Spiegelman's Raw) carried the banner of "alt-comix" during the vacuous 1980's. The couple produced two other continuing works during this time- their daughter Sophie was born (and she continues the family tradition herself as a talented cartoonist), and they co-created an ongoing saga called Dirty Laundry, in which they play off each other to form an intriguing hybrid of their individual visions.

It's clear to the serious observer of comics history that Kominsky-Crumb would garner serious critical attention even without her association with her illustrious husband. Those who have consistently underrated her influence would do well to check out her 2007 graphic memoir, Need More Love. This nearly 400-page book chronicles her life in detail, incorporating comics, interviews, photos and illuminating self-commentary. Her Long Island-born Jewish obsessiveness, along with her self-deprecating humor, makes this a wonderful introduction to the phenomenon that is Aline Kominsky-Crumb. She is absolutely without shame, and details both the various strengths and embarrassing aspects of her own character.

One need not be a student of Kominsky-Crumb's interests (fashion, physical fitness, dolls, etc.) to enjoy this book. You don't even have to appreciate the raw aesthetic that she brings to her cartooning. If you are at all curious about the life of a trail-blazing artist during the tumultuous years of post WWII America, then you owe it to yourself to check this out. Even if you are merely another R. Crumb "camp follower", there is much information to be mined from Need More Love. Kominsky -Crumb no doubt owes some debt to her intimate association with genius, but the opposite must also be acknowledged. Either way the past fifty years in art comics would have been noticeably weaker without the contributions of this ebullient woman.

Comics Abroad: Phillipe Dupuy and Rutu Modan.

I was hanging out with several new friends the other night, and the subject of comics comes up. This is always a dodgy conversation to have with people that don't know me well, as folks are liable to make all sorts of assumptions about adults that read comics. The few of us out here that have developed an appreciation for 'sequential art' realize that it is an important and interesting medium. Unfortunately, in all too many American minds, all comics means is 'superheroes' and simplistic battles of 'good' vs. 'evil'. Maybe there are some political conspiracies and soap opera antics, but it doesn't stray very strongly into the realm of realism. I guess it's understandable given the marketing behind Marvel and DC characters.

But there's an entire world beyond stories for adolescents. Fortunately I didn't have to do much persuasion in the little circle I was part of, because to one degree or another they had each had some experience with 'art comics'. While that is rare in this country, in Europe and Asia comics get their proper respect as a mature art form. The subject actually came up because one of my friends was born in Madrid. She started rattling off the names of artists that she's encountered throughout her life. The sad thing is, despite my fairly broad interest in the form, I recognized few of the names she brought up. I believe we are all missing a lot of great stuff, simply because there is only a very limited tradition of translating and/or promotingthe modern-day classics from abroad.

So this weekend I set out to address this blind spot in my reading. I've spoken before about how good the graphic novel section is at the Carnegie Library Main Branch in Oakland. It took me about two minutes to find a couple of titles worth borrowing. One of them was Haunted (Drawn & Quarterly,2008), by Phillipe Dupuy- a French comics artist who is well known on the continent for his 20-year collaboration with Charles Berberian. Haunted is notable for featuring a sketchbook approach that is absent from the polished Monsieur Jean stories that Dupuy has been creating with Berberian. It is deeply personal, and centered around the musings of a man (nominally the author himself) jogging through a park.

While some of the little tales within are prosaic, and deal with life-lived-in-the-moment, dreams and memories, the book develops into some increasingly warped imaginings. Talking ducks and other forest creatures appear, first engaging the runner, and later interacting in their own fantasy worlds. These stories are allowed to develop spontaneously, and leave the reader unsure about trajectories and direction. The wide-ranging quality of the book may at times feel disjointed, but there is an undeniable continuity resulting from Dupuy's decision not to hold too tightly onto the reigns. What ultimately stands out is the writing itself. The dialog is wry, witty, and emotionally affecting in turns. It makes the experience of reading Haunted gratifying.

I also picked up Rutu Modan's Exit Wounds. Modan was the editor of the Israeli version of Mad Magazine in the mid-90's. Since then she has been involved with founding the Actus Tragicus Comics group, won the Israeli Young Artist of the Year Award in 1997, garnered praises for her children's book illustration, and contributed a visual blog called Mixed Emotions to the New York Times website. Exit Wounds concerns a young cabby named Koby, who is pulled out of his routine when a young woman named Numi approaches him with suspicions that his estranged father has been killed in a cafeteria bombing. He reluctantly agrees to join Numi on a search for evidence proving that the unidentified victim is really his Dad. Along the way he learns more about the man's secret life, and gets to know a bit more about himself. Highly recommended.

Who is Kim Deitch?

The other day I wrote a post about the 'fursuiters', and I mentioned a cartoonist who had provoked the ire of at least one of these strange creatures by publishing a cartoon panel that was thought to misrepresent this odd subculture. Over the years this same artist has earned praise for his large body of work by employing themes such as addiction, media distortion, and the concerns of the entertainment industry in the early 20th Century. While R. Crumb now builds his status as a legend by appearing in museum shows, Kim Deitch quietly continues to expand his own legacy by publishing masterful comics that continually fly under the mainstream radar. That's really a shame, because in a lot of ways Deitch represents an evolution in the work of the very first wave of underground comics in America.

Deitch was there at the inception of the arts comics form. A perusal of the influential anthologies and periodicals that he has appeared in is remarkable in its breadth- The East Village Other, Arcade, Heavy Metal, High Times, LA Weekly, Pictopia, Raw, Weirdo and Zero Zero. Show this list to any fanboy, and their eyes will glaze over in envy and admiration. Appearances in only half of those rags would be enough to establish one as a major figure in comics history. Still the 64-year-old creator refuses to rest upon his laurels. His adventures with cartoon cat "Waldo" (said to be a demonic reincarnation of Judas Iscariot) remain both vibrant and bizarre. Instead of repeating a generic body of sight gags, Deitch's work becomes more and more complex and profound.

I first became aware of Deitch through a collection of Waldo stories called The Boulevard of Broken Dreams (2002). This title featured a 1930's-era cartoonist named Teddy Mishkin, a man teetering on the edge of alcoholism and mental breakdown. Mishkin is struggling to produce the latest "Waldo the Cat" animation short for the studio where he is employed. Meanwhile the inimical feline is starting to take on a real existence in Mishkin's life. This is all played out against a back-story which examines how changing attitudes and tastes for animation affected the smaller studios that labored to produce idiosyncratic and personal work, while other larger companies consolidated their power and strengthened their hold on the public imagination.

While it certainly doesn't hurt for the reader to understand a bit about the history of cartooning and animation during the first half of the last century, there are plenty of seedy details and strangely surreal elements to keep everyone involved. Often Deitch employs non-linear narratives that loop around, seeming at once to diverge from the main arc, and then suddenly return to the starting point with an alternative perspective. There are also repeat characters that pop up in his different stories. My enjoyment of Kim Deitch continued with Alias the Cat! (2007), which reintroduced Waldo as the insidiously meddlesome provocateur that I had come to know and love. This time around the protagonist is a former Czech munitions magnate and silent film actor. The charms of Dietch's style are consistent and sustaining.

What I particularly appreciate about Deitch's work is the full immersion that he is able to elicit with his astonishingly complete attention to detail. As wildly idiosyncratic as Deitch's universe is, it is accessible and seems counterintuitively welcoming for the reader. His settings certainly predate the lives of his primary audience, but there is a lot of embedded commentary in Dietch's work. Art comic giant Art Speigelman has said that, "Kim Deitch has created a private world as fully realized in its own way as Faulkner's." That comparison may make skeptical critics blanch. But I think there's merit in the association- because while Deitch's work is inextricably grounded in a specific past, there are themes at its core that resonate wildly in the present.

Adrian Tomine on "Fresh Air w/ Terry Gross".

My normal experience when I tune into a media source is characterized by a feeling of complete disenfranchisement. I have a hard time finding that particular source that caters to my demographic. Hell... I have difficulty figuring out if I even belong to any definable demographic. On these occasions I wonder if I can even count myself as an American citizen. If I have no discernible consumer identity, then surely that means I am hopelessly lost... a man without a country. Still I tune in, hoping to find something to connect to. Very occasionally I am surprised, and I feel like I am where I am supposed to be, listening or watching something that makes me feel "at home". It usually doesn't happen in my car. I don't have satellite radio, or any of those other fancy pay-to-play amenities that help the average citizen define themselves. Maybe that's why the commute is so tiring.

I often end up listening to NPR's Fresh Air with Terry Gross on my way home. I usually find her obsessively examining the latest political issue. Sometimes it's informative, and at other times it's simply overkill. How many times can I hear an interchangeably disembodied voice pontificate on the Iraqi War troop surge? I have a similar sense of ennui when I have to listen to another analysis of our failing markets. Imagine my surprise last Thursday to find an interview with Adrian Tomine. Really... I hardly ever expect to find mention of an "alternative comics" artist outside my own house, or at the local purveyor of fine comics. Maybe one could expect an appearance by R. Crumb, or even Dan Clowes talking about his latest screenplay. But these are extremely rare occasions.

Adrian Tomine? He's not even a commonly recognized genius of his medium on the Comics Journal Message Board. In fact the regular posters there seem to be excessively negative when it comes to his work. I was always puzzled about the source of the animosity whenever his name came up. What was it about this individual creator that got under the skin of this small community that actually takes comics seriously? I was so puzzled that I asked the owner of the one store in Pittsburgh where I could reasonably expect to find Tomine's work. The answer was deceptively simple- in the opinion of one analyst, Tomine is disregarded and besmirched due to a generalized climate of envy. It turns out that Adrian Tomine has a reputation for getting laid. My source honestly believes that these eloquent nerds resent one of the few successful cartoonists working in art comics, merely because he is able to form meaningful human interactions with the opposite sex (in real time and space).

So take all the criticism (that you have likely never heard) with a grain of salt. There's something ugly lurking underneath. Certainly Tomine creates characters that may not be entirely sympathetic in their disaffected hipster poses. It's true that they are often world-weary and self-indulgent. And it's undeniable that Tomine appropriates the influence of Daniel Clowes in his work. But why shouldn't he? Hell, he's only 33 and it seems to have worked for him so far. Actually his first graphic novel Shortcomings does demonstrate a certain level of hard-earned maturity. Despite what you may hear from the peanut gallery, he is indeed developing as an artist. If (as he readily admits) he is partially responsible for the development of certain cliches in autobiographic comics- it is only attributable to a consistently present style in his work. Call it the visual equivalent of emo-core or post-indie music... it's a hallmark of Tomine's oeuvre.

I was actually very impressed by Terry Gross' level of insight in her interview with Tomine. I never knew her to be an explicit fan of art comics, but it definitely seemed like she did her homework beforehand. At one point she began talking about the artist's mother, and her background in psychology. She accurately highlighted the importance of the inner life in Tomine's work. She also identified him as something of an outsider, which you pretty much have to be (by default) when you make the kind of comics that Tomine creates.

Gross also brought up his peanut allergy, which she correctly guessed the existence of from reading his earlier comics. She asked if it had informed his perception of himself as a perpetual "outsider", and if it contributed to a type of hypersensitivity in his personality formation. In revealing this seemingly peripheral characteristic, Gross hit on an influence at the very core of Tomine's art. That something as inescapably physiological as a fatal allergen can make a little kid aware of the impermanence and fragility of life itself only seemed obvious to me after Gross pointed it out. That she was able to reach into Tomine's comics, and extract this subtle understanding is a testament to her skill and intuition about people. What could we expect next on Fresh Air? Maybe Gross will invite the inscrutable Chris Ware to the show, and give us a window into his process as well. No... that would just be pandering to my market niche.

The Genius of Rick Geary.

Yesterday I had a chance to stop by my favorite local comics store in the area (Copacetic- in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood). My main reason for visiting was to pick up the new issue of Mome, a Fantagraphics seasonal anthology of comics that features some of the best young cartoonists working today- including Jonathan Bennett, Martin Cendreda, Gabrielle Bell, David Heatley, Sophie Crumb, and Anders Nilsen. Of course I got tempted by some other fine products as well. I picked up a back issue of The Ganzfeld, a Wild at Heart DVD, and Rick Geary's J. Edgar Hoover. It just so happened that my trip to the store coincided with the arrival of a shipment which included that last book.

As far as I'm concerned, the discovery of a new graphic novel by Geary is always an occasion for celebration. His series of little books, chronicling some of the most famous Victorian-era crimes, demonstrates the high level of artistry, style and professionalism that Geary is known for. Had I not initially discovered them at my local library (which has an outstanding selection of graphic novels), I'd likely own everything he has ever put out. As it is, titles focused on the Lizzie Borden murders, the Garfield Assassination, and the Beast of Chicago (H.H. Holmes) have lingered in my mind long after I've finished reading them. The amount of research he invests in order to capture the historical accuracy of the events, and the period details of the settings, is absolutely striking.

I'll admit that Geary was a bit of an acquired taste. I wasn't initially attracted to his drawing style. A Geary character is unmistakable- with its pinched face, flat expression, and meticulous cross-hatching. The look of his page is extraordinarily clean, and can be superficially mistaken for being almost uptight. The all-capital lettering of his copious narration boxes are almost mechanical in appearance. His approach is straight-forward and informative. But the more I looked at his work, the more I began to appreciate his attention to craft. It is nearly impossible to spot an incongruous or sloppy portrayal. His writing style avoids melodrama and flashiness, and begins to carry you away into the depths of his story. Rick Geary definitely has a way of creeping up on you.

It's gotten to the point that I will immediately buy anything new that he releases. It doesn't even matter if I think it's a good deal or if I'm particularly interested in the subject matter. I have complete confidence that, by the end of the book, I will have been transported fully to another time and place, and in the meantime- I'll have actually learned something. These are educational comics that are extremely entertaining. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend them to a teenager or a senior citizen. Geary's J. Edgar Hoover biography is no exception. He presents an unbiased survey of the controversial man's life and times. I can't say that I've ever been exceptionally interested in studying the career of the man that defined the FBI for the first several decades of its existence... but still I made my way through this 100-page volume effortlessly.

Unlike the other examples of Geary comics in my collection, the J. Edgar Hoover book is a hardback edition. It's published under the Hill and Wang division of Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. The production values are impressive... just as I would expect from any Geary work. His output demands that special care be invested in its presentation. I wouldn't be surprised if the cartoonist is called on to illustrate more historical figures. I can't think of an artist with better skills for that purpose than Geary.

Drew Friedman

Who is Drew Friedman, and why should you care? He is perhaps the foremost living caricaturist, and has a diverse fan-base that has included R. Crumb, Kurt Vonnegut, Howard Stern, and Jerry Lewis. The last is most surprising, considering Friedman has often targeted the slapstick "King of Comedy" in his satirical comics. But Friedman has not been universally lauded, as such figures as Joe Franklin and Wood Allen have taken exception to the unflattering portraits the artist has made of them. Franklin went as far as suing* Friedman for $40 million for depicting the aging talk show host as an incredibly shrinking man.

It's not surprising that some of Friedman's subjects have been offended. As a cartoonist, he employs a grotesquely unflattering style. Punctuated by seemingly millions of stippled ink-dots, his targets are often decorated with extra wrinkles and liver spots. Their open mouths are connected by strips of white sticky mouth goo, and every flaw in their appearances seem to be especially magnified. While Daniel Clowes (also a fan) once famously said that caricaturists traditionally employ the technique of softening their models' most prominent features, Friedman obviously breaks rank with his colleagues. It is the rare public figure that could find their visage beautiful through the pen of Friedman.

Despite his reluctance to glamorize celebrity, it is possible to see the affection Friedman has for some of his most frequent targets. Tor Johnson, the moronic ex-wrestler from the Ed Wood movies, appears often- and despite his bumbling persona, it's clear that Friedman has a special affinity for the hapless giant. Similarly, the artist has portrayed many old Jewish comedians, and collected them into an anthology. While they are often ugly, the essential vulnerability of their humanity is undeniable. Friedman is clearly in love with obscure "B"-level celebrities from the 30's, 40's and beyond. But instead of drawing comics incorporating historically accurate details of their lives, he places them in unfamiliar milieus. Abbot and Costello walk through seedy modern cityscape. Ricky Ricardo and Fred Mertz attend a NAMBLA meeting.

Friedman's drawings have a grainy photorealism quality to them. His stippling technique betrays an obsessive fascination to detail, and his backgrounds are consistently moody and compelling. Together these elements often add up to even more than a sum of their parts. Seeing a Friedman cover is a fascinatingly visceral experience. Even after the artist began to move away from his trademark technique in favor of painted caricature, his work has always been immediately recognizable. Despite the fact that you may not recognize his name, you have certainly seen his output. He has done commercial illustration for publications as diverse as Entertainment Magazine, the New York Observer, Al Goldstein's Screw, Premiere, Details, The New Yorker, and The New York Times. During this phase of his career, he has drawn all the modern celebrities, and ignoble detritus of the wasteland of consumer culture.

It is a shame that Friedman found alt comix to be such an unprofitable venture. His early collections, such as Warts and All and Any Similarity to Persons Living and Dead is Purely Coincidental are stunning proof for his genius. While these works are more rewarding if you know something about the often obscure figures Friedman includes, they can be appreciated for their own sake. A recent anthology (The Fun Never Stops!) collecting a representation of his work from 1991-2006 has recently been released by Fantagraphics. It's an excellent survey of both his artistic and more commercial work. I recommend it.


* Franklin lost the suit.

Chicago: Quimby's, Bars and more.

My host had to work last night, so I made my first solo foray by car into the heart of North Chicago. I stuck to the few roads I could identify and made my way to Quimby's in Bucktown. This bookstore constituted a geeky sort of pilgrimage for me, as I first became aware of its legendary status from reading comments on the Comics Journal Message Board. Its relatively small size belies the broad range of treasures contained within. Their selection of underground zines and minicomics is unlike anything I've ever seen. They stock a wide selection of the best alt-comix graphic novels, and many pamphlet-format books. Look further and you'll find books on conspiracies, magik, "lowbrow" art, esoteric sociology, tattoos, carnival life, prison literature, and just about everything the urban hipster could possibly covet. Shopping there is serious business too- they clearly post a D.I.Y. sign on the front door advising patrons to turn their cellphones off before entering. I have no idea how long I was actually there. It could have been hours. I escaped with remarkable restraint. I came out with work by Ivan Brunetti, Martin Cendreda, Rick Geary and the new MOME.

When I got back to Andersonville, we decided to go grab a drink. "The Duke of Perth" in Wrigleyille is a solid Irish pub with what I'm told is an excellent range of quality whiskies. I took advantage of the 50 cent wing special. I was so hungry that I would have gladly savored sushi. Fortunately that wasn't necessary. Actually I might have had to dig a bit if I had anything approximating a sophisticated pallet. The neighborhood itself is largely frequented by yahoos, as it hosts Wrigley Park- home of the Chicago Cubs. Although it's not the type of place I'd typically be drawn toward, I was impressed to see a sports stadium smack dab in the middle of a functional mix of residences and dense commercial development. Of course it's a bit like a postcard from a time long past, but it doesn't feel like a museum. Despite myself and my aesthetic, I admired the place just a bit.

We finished the night at Delilah's in Lincoln Park. Ian at Brillo Box had suggested that I would like this bar. He was right. Just as he had described it, thisw joint is a mix of the Brillo and Gooski's. I don't know what it is about Chicago and bourbon... but if you are a fan of that particular spirit, you will find many who share your enthusiasm. If you are into post-punk and slightky seedy dives, then Delilah's is a natural choice. It's dark, intimate and loud enough to keep you awake- even if you choose the comfortable leather couch in the back corner. And they stock both 60 and 90-minute Dogfish IPA. Nuff said.

My agenda for today was to set off by car in search of "authentic" Chicago. After a bit of a late start we headed in a roundabout way toward the Baha'i Temple in Wilmette. I don't know a whole lot about this faith, other than to say that it is with pretensions of universalism. The physical structure is an ornate behemoth, with an impossibly high ceiling and a variety of religious iconography carved into its outer exterior. From what I gathered from our short run around the visitor's center, its a bit like an Eastern Unitarianism with delusions of grandeur. I plan on doing some internet research about this religion when I get some downtime back in the Burgh. I was warned not to accept any offers from adherents to view the explanatory film, and so we got back on the road.

I really wanted to locate unique photo opportunities, and so when the prospect of trying to find Louis Farrakhan's house was brought up, I embraced the idea. Unfortunately we couldn't find it, and we ended up in an industrial section where I took a couple of shots of a working steel mill. Imagine that. I had to drive seven and a half hours from Pittsburgh, only to photograph the steel industry. What was especially unusual about this site was the length to which the mill company went to encourage tourists to loiter about. There was a permanent placard explaining the philosophy of welcome. And there were several benches flanked by trees for the weary traveler to take a load off. Apparently the 9-11 terrorist paranoia isn't running rampant in Chi-town. No one looked askance at me as I leisurely took photos of the men at work, and the scrapyard nearby.

This evening L. and I went down to Old Town to rendezvous with one of his buddies. We wanted to have our drinks outside on the sidewalk, so we ended up at a bar we wouldn't have otherwise chosen. The conversation was good, and so we extended our evening with a visit to the Old Town Ale House. Apparently this cozy neighborhood dive is a traditional haunt of the Second City players- many of which have found fame on Saturday Night Live. What really distinguished the place for me was the incredible collection of bawdy art and portraits occupying every available space of the walls. The paintings are executed in a flat, but colorfully naive style. They depict women and men caught in various stages of undress and occupied in various kinky sex acts. Perhaps tellingly, the artist included himself, peering out in a creepily voyeuristic manner, in the background of each piece. Simply unforgettable. I wanted to buy a t-shirt with a particularly choice image, but they didn't have the right size. I intend to follow up online. If I see nothing else of value the rest of this trip, I will still consider myself lucky to have been exposed to this wondrous place.