PERVERT COMIX #'s 7, 8
Girls on Gavin McInnes.
Ariel Bordeaux:"I think you are seriously disturbed... you are in
dire need of professional help."
Julie Doucet:"No,no,no!!... Don't change Gavin!... The world needs
people like him because he is very entertaining."
And what sort of entertainer is he? ...A fucking comedian.
Making a prat of yourself in public is a mainstay of stand-up
comedy — maybe the mainstay. Gavin McInnes' confessional
comic zine is a low-tech, armchair version of a comic's mic, PA,
and return ticket to a gig in the sticks. Pervert dishes up the
dirt audiences crave in the twenty pages of comics and letters
section which transposes to printed form the heckle and jibe of the
live crowd. We also get the mandatory obsequiously glowing tributes
from his comic peers: in this case Jim Woodring, James Kochalka,
Chantale Doyle and a crate of other top bananas. Whackey fun from
issue 9 includes this interchange on Pervert #7:
Kochalka: The clit licking panel is really good. God I love
McInnes: James, I like to eat pussy too! Check out this picture of
me going at it. I sure fixed this saucy young trollop's wagon!!
A tiny polaroid of frozen cunnilingual action follows. Then, on to
the next line:
McInnes: How do I look with a moustache?
Gavin McInnes is funny.
He'll take you along with him and his nerdy sex relations with a
secession of women through a trip via plane and train across
Europe, checking out punky crash pads, demos and anarchist squats,
fucking up every encounter by his inability to have a straight shag
more than a couple of times without whipping out red thigh socks,
his favourite sex aid. No, he doesn't wear them. The girlfriend has
to put them on. Each scene of pathetic lust, guilt and
recrimination is boldly rendered in strong and animated cartoon
lines to register maximum embarrassment.
This single achievement is backed up by short and worthy strips
from Marc Bell and John Porcellino but, of course, the show is
PERVERT COMIX [#8 32 22x18cm PAGES, 2 COLOUR + HAND TIPPED CARD
COVER, #9 32(?) 22x18cm PAGES, COLOUR COPY ON CARD COVER] $3 EACH
(+P+P?). GAVIN MCINNES, P.O. BOX 42023, MONTREAL, QUEBEC, CANADA,
"Like the shadowy forms observed through membraneous half-sleep,
or the vague phantasms glimpsed through a bubble of blood, as the
final breath gurgles in a hollow chest, Post Mortimer is a
subterranean glimpse of one man's mind and its darkest stirrings."
With that on the back, and a tombstone of purple praise inside the
cover, you can't miss that this is a nasty story. It's the internal
monologue and dreary reality of a depressed pathologist with a
morbid sex/death obsession as he does autopsies on reeking bodies,
while being haunted by visons of Death as a wobbly heap of
putrefying organs. Uh-huh. Even though David Gough's artwork is
superb, very much like what you'd get on the walls of Ditko's
padded cell if he went psychotic, the script is a full-on fire-hose
of emetic twaddle. Every single panel is overstuffed with grim
prose — I lost count of all the
suppurating/bloated/putrefying/rancid variations. I'm afraid Gough
has gone to such lengths to make this tale as gross as possible,
that the end result is just OTT. "David Gough Disturbs Me" says
Noel K Hannan — well he bores the hell out of me. This title
is ideal for the sort of person who videos BSE documentaries in
order to slow-motion the scenes of rendering cow brains into
POST MORTIMER [28 30x19cm PAGES] £2 (P+P?). DAVID GOUGH, 119
HOMEFARM RD, WOODCHURCH, WIRRAL, L49 7LG.
Behind the cover pic of a uniformed, knicker-flashing gal in
flames, Princesse Majorette is a collection of screenprinted
monstrosities compiled in the form of a role-playing game book. The
scenario is pretty simple. I can even translate some of it very
roughly from the overlapping Japanese, French and spanish
instructions plonked across the inside front cover spread: "Bad
luck! You've died and you're going to howl in the agonies of Hell.
Yet the Devil wants to have still more fun with you. You can save
your soul from damnation with the role of a dice. Take two dice,
throw, then go forward until you have become a minor saint. Beware
— you must keep going right to the end. If you don't you'll
have to come back by as many places you have remaining. Stick to
these rules as He will be watching. Be trickier than the
You get the picture; or, more accurately, you get the pictures.
The RPG McGuffin is merely the pretext for another descent into
graphiste inferno with a typical gang of Le Dernier Cri
contributors as your guides. Princesse Caramel, Prince Bolino,
Prince Kerozene and Prince Bongo lead you through spread after
spread of cheery dismemberment, corporal violation and diabolic
torment, each excruciating image lovingly screenprinted in lush,
poisonously fetid inks on white and pastel coloured boards.
You can, of course, use it as a game instead of merely drooling
over all the metonymic abomination — but be ready to tackle
the alternative French, Spanish or Japanese rules if you really
feel the compulsion to get verbal; though why you might is totally
PRINCESSE MAJORETTE [24 240x320 PAGE ALBUM, 3 COLOUR TO 7 COLOUR
SPREADS, HEAVY CARD STOCK] 150_ LE DERNIER CRI, 38 RUE FLEGIER,
You know that really annoying bloke down the pub? Y'know, the one
that always says, "Cheer up, it might never happen" and then
expects you to be concerned when he's unhappy. And you know his
mate, the one that's too damn nice and puts up with all his bull,
usually defending him, saying, "He's alright really, it's just his
way". Well this comic is about them.
You'll recognise almost everything Alan and Jim get up to, from
sitting in trees pining for a just-too-distant youth, to sitting in
the road waiting to be hit by a car 'cos the girlfriend's gorn and
left — again!
And that's the problem with this mag really — it's too
familiar. So much so that you end up with so little sympathy for
the protagonists that you begin to wish that car would hurry up and
put us out of their misery. Like all pub philosophers, they're nice
enough geezers, but you wouldn't want to be stuck with them down
the bar all night — and that's not a good move when you're
trying to create characters for your readers to identify with. I
spose they're alright really, I guess it's just their way.
PUB FICTION [20 A5 PAGES, CARD STOCK COVER] £1·50.
MAT BUNCE, 3 WREN CLOSE, YATELEY, CAMBERLEY, SURREY, GU17 7NZ.
See that up in the sky? ...Is it a bird? ...Is it a plane?
...Nope, it's Reverbstorm flying completely over the top of this
I've done quite a few reviews lately and my major complaint has
been that so many comics are either too derivative, unimaginative
or both. Yet here we have a comic that's neither of those things,
but sadly I have to report that I simply don't understand it. Thick
as 2 short planks or what? Anyway, this obviously puts me at a
disadvantage when it comes to recommending it or not, but to give
you a brief taster I'll just say that James Joyce is one of the
characters as is Picasso (err, actually it's Guernica rather than
Picasso himself. You work it out). The intellectuals amongst us
might well be in hog heaven with this, but it might prove a little
too avant-guard for those ordinary mortals like me. If you hadn't
already guessed, this is not at all like any previous Lord Horror
comic; it's an altogether more serious, surreal and sombre work.
Britton's comics are never an easy read, but they do usually repay
the effort you have to put in. However, I would suggest that this
comic is so locked into its own obscurity that without buying the
previous 4 issues your chances of taking much from this are
REVERBSTORM #5 ISBN 0 86130 096 3 [52 GLOSSY A4 PAGES, FULL COLOUR
COVER] £3·50 SAVOY BOOKS, 279 DEANSGATE MANCHESTER, M3
RHONDA ROCKET #3
I'm in a quandary over this, It's well written, and has an
enjoyable plot concerning Nick Taylor's bizarre adventures of the
titular Ms Rocket... I mean, giant sea monkeys and a man wearing
the Starship Enterprise in his bonce are gonna get your attention,
aren't they? But the art really does get in the way of it all. The
basic layouts are okay but the finishes look incredibly rushed and
make it seem like the artist could not be bothered. There are
flashes of finer work but the majority of it is extremely splodgy,
which is made more obvious when Rhonda appears in segments from an
old Spider Man strip. This sequence is actually very cleverly done,
and you can't expect Nick to ape another artist's style, but the
two styles do clash quite conspicuously. I could stand to read
someone else's copy but I'd never fork out for one, which is a
shame as it's obviously a labour of love for it's creator. Just
work on your inks, man!
RHONDA ROCKET [32 A4 PAGES, COLOURCOPY COVER] £2. NICK
TAYLOR, 53 ST DAVIDS ROAD NORTH, ST ANNES-ON-SEA, LANCS, FY8
COLLECTED EDITION #1
Apparently this is named after the gorgeous Thelonious Monk tune
as played by Dexter Gordon (but check out the unbelievably spooky
solo piano version recorded by Monk in Paris in 1954, or its
reworking for cosmonauts by Miles Davis on 'live at the Plugged
What? Oh yeah, this is a comics review magazine, isn't it?
Subtitled A Romance, it tells the tale of Jack, the Harlequin, who
dreams of another life in which he loved and lost, gaining a child
and much bitterness. Convinced that reality lies behind the dream,
he goes in search of it.
By now you may be thinking of The Sandman and Peter Bangs admits
to being influenced by Neil Gaiman. He also claims that there's a
good deal more to it than that, and he's right. There's a delicacy
to his work, not just in the light, poised art but in the balanced
opposition between a dream which is like reality and a reality
which is, er, dreamlike, that I can't feel in Gaiman's knowing,
inviting scripts. It's as though Bangs has grasped the warmth as
well as the wildness of romance and is content to let its
mysteriousness carry it without throwing in anything
To repeat, it's delicate — which doesn't mean it's weak.
Bang's isn't likely to win any prizes for anatomical drawing
— faces and, particularly, hands often look strange —
but he has a tremendous grasp of body language and uses open space,
lots of it, very atmospherically. He uses lettering styles nicely
All in all he's grasped the spirit of Monk's tune perfectly. I'm
damned if I can think of higher praise than that.
ROUND MIDNIGHT [COLLECTED EDITION: 56 A5 PAGES, CARD STOCK COVER,
#5 16 A5 PAGES, #6 20 A5 PAGES] COLLECTED EDITION
£1·20, SINGLE ISSUES 30p EACH, 16 ISSUE SUBSCRIPTION
(INCLUDING COLLECTED EDITION) £4·80. PETER A. BANGS,
51 WOOLSTON RD, BUTLOCKS HEATH, SOUTHAMPTON, SO31 5FR.