From goombah Steve Bissette on
Panel to Panel. CAN'T GET NO
Written & Illustrated by Rick Veitch
Published by DC Comics/Vertigo 2006
Review by Stephen R. Bissette
Since Rick Veitch’s latest solo original graphic novel
is receiving (richly deserved) praise from all corners
in and out of the comics arena, I’ll avoid
redundancies. The one fresh perspective I can offer
CAN’T GET NO readers and prospective buyers/readers is
that of a privileged insider who has seen Veitch’s
work mature over three decades. This newest work is
the current culmination of key aspects of his creative
life in a way that is most likely invisible to all but
the truly devoted, diehard Veitch aficionados and
collectors.
CAN’T GET NO is the tale of an upper-class Manhattan
ad executive whose life is derailed by a catastrophic
business upset, a subsequent drunken one-night stand
with lesbian guerilla artists who indelibly ‘tattoo’
his face and body with the very “ultra-permanent”
markers his firm promotes, and the September 11th,
2001 strike on the World Trade Center. Unmoored by the
lethal combo of his personal apocalypse and that
striking the heart of Manhattan and the US, Veitch’s
protagonist is not so much cast adrift as he is thrown
to the dogs and thrust into a purgatory road quest.
This is the meat of the novel, as evocative of Jack
Kerouac and EASY RIDER as it is of both Dantes --
Alighieri, of INFERNO fame, and filmmaker Joe, with
whom Veitch shares a potent grasp of and impudent
irreverence for national landmarks and trademarks, and
their subversive potential (note his perfect union of
Jackie Kennedy, Mount Rushmore, the Universal Monsters
and Amusement-Park-America-in-ruins in one of the
novel’s most deft, breathless sequences). Unlike EASY
RIDER’s biker antiheroes Wyatt and Billy, Veitch’s
tattooed everyman doesn’t go looking for America, but
he finds it everywhere.
Like all Veitch graphic novels since ABRAXAS AND THE EARTHMAN, it’s an arduous transformative quest, for his put-upon hero and the reader, and Veitch
skillfully drives his philosophical points home with
deceptively playful surgical precision. Significantly,
unlike Veitch’s idiosyncratic (in mainstream terms)
earlier works, this one is utterly attuned to the
collective zeitgeist of NOW -- the post-9/11 world we
live in today. Thus, it is absolutely contemporary,
urgent, and a heartfelt dissection of shared traumas
both private and public, making this the most
accessible of all Veitch’s creations. It’s also a
much-needed antidote to the jingoistic post-9/11
patriotic garbage the mainstream comics publishers (DC
included) have been cautiously but shamelessly
grinding out for five years; kudos to Veitch for
countering such shallow, patronizing exploitation with
such an expansive, explorative and introspective
creation.
Though the creator of this magnificent work might
resent my saying so, CAN’T GET NO can be read two
ways. It can be read comprehensively as the synthesis
of poetry and sequential narrative Veitch consciously
forged. Or it can be read as a ‘silent’ graphic
narrative, of a piece with Franz Masereel and Lynd
Ward’s early 20th Century metaphoric woodcut graphic
novels, in which Veitch’s staccato beat poetry
(echoing Don Van Vliet/Captain Beefheart as much as
Allen Ginsberg) becomes a sort of background cacophony
to be engaged with or ignored at whim, as one chooses.
In this, CAN’T GET NO stands as the summit, summation
and a coherent one-stop totality of everything Veitch
has created to date. It’s a marvelous tapestry
composed of threads I clearly recognize as individual
fabrics and weaves he has labored over throughout his
career.
Many colors and patterns of this tapestry may be
obvious to the casual comics reader with a passing
knowledge of Veitch’s most mainstream work -- the
transformative quest is characteristic of all his
Marvel/Epic serializations and graphic novels, as well
as his SWAMP THING years (working from Alan Moore’s
scripts, and as writer/penciler until the abrupt
termination point that was SWAMP THING #88), redolent
with pop culture touchstones, political and religious
thematics and icons, and a flamboyant fusion of high
melodrama and sometimes brutal violence. Those aware
of his Tundra years and self-publishing ventures under
the King Hell moniker will recognize more: the
affinity of his fictional protagonist’s plight and
apparently goalless quest, and the mercurial
landscapes he explores, with Veitch’s own dream
persona (in all its incarnations) in RAREBIT FIENDS;
the disorienting speed with which the arena shifts
from the microscopic to the cosmic, a’la RAREBIT and
the entirety of the King Hell universe (THE ONE,
MAXIMORTAL, BRATPACK, etc.); the predilection for
grotesque caricature (when it suits his purposes) in
jarring contrast to subtler observations of character
and nuances of body language; etc.
But how many of you have ever heard of, much less
seen, Rick’s mini-comics? Does anyone recall their
mini-eruption onto the newsstand via the
text-column-filler strips entitled “L’il Tiny Comics”
that appeared in HEAVY METAL for a short time around
1980? Ah, I thought not.
If memory serves, Rick once told me “L’il Tiny Comics”
were introduced long before he and I met at the Joe
Kubert School in September of ‘76 (relevant to CAN’T
GET NO, the American Bicentennial year). The first
sample I saw was a hand-drawn, one-of-a-kind
mini-comic Rick drew as a birthday gift for a friend.
These were unique items, not meant or designed for
publication.
Over the years, these never-published “Li’l Tiny
Comics” would sporadically appear as needed, lovingly
drawn, glued and stapled together most often as unique
gifts or commemorative souvenirs. Together, we did a
completely silly “L’il Tiny Comic” as a regional
giveaway item for a friend of Rick’s, featuring
“Rivits the Stinkiest Dog in the World” -- this was
the closest “L’il Tiny” came to mass production,
happily relegated to limbo of instant obscurity.
When I became the first Kubie (our affectionate term
for Kubert School students; alumni are Ex-Kubies) to
land a sale to HEAVY METAL magazine back in ‘77, Rick
was quick to submit his own work to art director John
Workman, and one of the first sales Rick scored there
was a full-color short serialized variation on “L’il
Tiny Comics” fusing Rick’s off-the-cuff poetry with
crazy-quilt visuals. The loose narrative drive and
frame was deliberate: while still living in Dover, NJ
in a shared house, Rick and I once pinned up all the
material we had sold to HEAVY METAL on the wall
alongside the roughs for concepts HM had rejected, and
arrived at the revelation that the magazine tended to
purchase only the non-narrative, nonlinear work --
comics that made no sense! Thus, we both plunged into
completing full-color non-narrative experiments,
almost all of which John Workman was delighted with
and purchased (most were published, too).
The
incarnation of “L’il Tiny Comics” that appeared in
HEAVY METAL was among these (as I noted, as
“text-column-filler” strips, as HM was at that time
seeking something Workman could plug into the text
pages), and its fusion of beat poetry, rock’n’roll
licks and visionary art always defined for me Veitch
at his most freeform and adventurous.
The format also yielded Rick’s breakthrough RAREBIT
FIENDS series, first drawn as his inventive
permutation of the Scott McCloud “24 Hour Comics”
challenge. Instead of addressing the challenge head-on
as a marathon run as Scott and I had -- an unnecessary
component for Rick since he always made (or beat)
deadlines -- Rick dedicated one hour each morning over
24 days to delineating his dreams in landscape-format
pages, and photocopy-published the complete
24-days-of-single-hours harvest as a “L’il Tiny
Comics” variation, mailing it to Scott, myself, and
others in that first month or two of “24 Hour Comics”
exchanges. These remain to my mind some of Rick’s
all-time best work. The art was spare and elegant,
never overworked or clumsy, effortlessly embodying a
grace and immediacy his pro work too often subsumed in
labor-intensive elaborations. That dancer’s touch was
occasionally muffled in the “real” dream comics he
eventually began publishing in 1994, but it still lent
his art some rarified “breathing room.” Thus, Rick
launched the dream comic that became his ambitious
self-published Jungian autobiographical series RAREBIT
FIENDS, elevating what had been “L’il Tiny Comics” to
a whole new platform. The rest is history.
Thus, it is with great satisfaction that I hold his
newest “L’il Tiny Comic” -- which, format-wise, is
what CAN’T GET NO is in the context of contemporary
trade hardcover and paperback graphic novels in
general, and the template formats of DC/Vertigo
graphic novels in particular. This is the richest,
densest incarnation of Veitch’s venerable “Li’l
Tinies.” There, the secret is out.
Some (including Veitch) have complained about the
paper stock and printing (one friend emailed me,
bemoaning the lack of color), but I celebrate that
aspect of CAN’T GET NO; it is somehow apropos, an echo of the conundrum of preciousness (only one copy!) and disposability (mini-comics!) inherent in the “L’il
Tiny Comics” of yore. It’s the WAR AND PEACE of “L’il Tiny Comics,” thick as a brick, concrete yet
ephemeral, substantial yet elusive and wonderfully
ethereal, despite its physical heft. That such an
ideosyncratic and personal work emerged from the
DC/Vertigo stable is further cause for celebration. I
get a chuckle from the final page’s l’il tiny typeset
masthead of DC/Vertigo credits; it perversely sweetens
the package, echoing the fake comics companies Rick
and his brother Mike competitively mounted as
grade-school children and brothers vying to dominate
their illusory one-household, small-town-America
market. Ya beat him, Rick -- this is the Big Time!
But maybe that’s just me. Hell, I don’t care -- I hold
this book in my hands after re-reading it for the
umpteenth time, and I feel a circle coming together,
an axis shifting, and I unapologetically love it like
no other graphic novel.
As in CAN’T GET NO’s slippery-as-black-ice narrative,
nothing -- NOTHING -- is permanent, much less
“ultra-permanent.” That, Veitch reminds us, is the
heart and deceptive beauty of art, illusion, love,
hate, God and Empire and country and death and life
itself. Like the wellspring of its title, CAN’T GET NO
is a song, a grand song -- in pages and panels. Let
your eyes dance, and sing.