The dead hand of EC

Back in the mid-nineties, when Gemstone comics had the licence to reprint EC comics, they printed annuals of the various titles by bundling five-six issues together as a new collection. These must have been incredibly overprinted, as the local remaindered bookstore still have dozens and dozens of them for sale. I bought a couple of them on Saturday while waiting for my parents to finish clothes shopping and while reading them over the weekend, I realised something.

These comics are crap.

Not the art of course, which for the most part is of a very high standard indeed, but the stories. The best of them barely rise above tedious O. Henry stuff and it’s no wonder the ovrrated sentimentality of Ray Bradbury made such an impression when first adapted here, compared to what it appeared next to. It’s just not very good at all, certainly not that much better than what was being published at other companies, yet EC has become a symbol of the best of American comics, so why is that?

Well, comics fans have always been more interested in art than story and good art will always win out over bad storytelling, but not the other way around, and it has been fans who’ve been writing the history books until recently. Through uncritical repetition EC’s reputation has become reified fact. This is helped by the simple fact that for decades EC comics were almost the only comics from that era that were in print. Worse, when the first fan histories were written, even they were out of print and hard to get if hadn’t bought them from the newsstands when new. Which means both that newer generations of EC readers (like me) miss the context in which they were published, it also meant that quite often we’d come to them through the fan histories and slick artbooks which of course told us how great these comics were before we had a chance to judge them for ourselves.

All of which wouldn’t be that bad, if not for the bad example EC has set for the American comic field. If those are the best comics the US comics industry has produced, with excellent art but mediocre stories, is it any wonder that so many later comics projects have followed the same route, with glitzy arts but no content, that so many underground and “alternative” comics ultimately dissappoint once you get past the visuals?

Or would that have been the case without EC too?

(Post inspired by this: “Sure, EC was important to 1960s-70s underground comics as a liberating influence, but was equally a weight to get out from under”. I think we’re still struggling to get out from under the EC comics legacy, from the idea that comics are good enough if the visuals are great and story doesn’t matter.)

Drink Moar beer

Bayerischer Bahnhof Berliner Style Weisse

Right, more beer drinking. Proof positive that reading beer blogs is dangerous to your sobriety, I saw this Bayerischer Bahnhof Berliner Style Weisse in de Bierkoning and because I’d read this post at Shut Up about Barclay Perkins (for serious beer nerdery) I thought I’d give it a try. I know what weiss beer tastes like, but hadn’t heard of a Berliner style weiss beer yet. If this particular bottle is a good example of the style, it turns out to be much more sour than a normal weiss beer, tasting rather like a Kriek or Rodenbach, sour almost to the point of invoking your gag reflex, and with a very low alcohol percentage of 3 percent ABV. As you can see the colour is light golden, slightly darker than a lager, with a big head of foam, but that might’ve been caused by the transport from the shop to my home. On the whole I liked it, but it’s good it’s only a small (33 cl) bottle; more than that would be too much. It’s not the sort of beer you quaff on a hot sunny day.

Let’s drink some beer

It’s sunday, it’s sunny and I got some nice beers here which my parents were kind enough to bring along from Middelburg. First up is the Peelander Framboos beer:

The Peelander Framboos

Well, it certainly looks like raspberry beer and when opening the bottle, smells like it too. Tasting it, you get a strong raspberry flavour as well, with a slightly sour aftertaste and almost no hoppy bitterness. It’s slightly gassy and has some of the cloyingness that I associate with a good raspberry cordial. If you’d buy this expecting a beer similar to a kriek lambic, you’d be dissappointed. Alcohol wise it’s only 4% ABV, so a good drink for a hot summer’s day.

Prestige Premium Pils:

Prestige Premium Pils

Another Peelander product, this is a proper pilsner (5% ABV), nothing more, nothing less. It looks like a glass of Heineken, it smells like Heineken when you open it and it tastes like it too, with that slightly metallic aftertaste proper Heineken has. A perfectly alright pilsner, just a bit dull.

Abide with me



Like me, Sandra had long put away the religious faith she was raised in, but, again like me, had kept her appreciation for some of the hymns she had grown up with. One of those hymns was Abide With Me, which she had been talking about only days before her death. Last night at the Olympics it was used in the tribute to the victims of the 7/7 bombings. Even without that personal connection the performance would’ve given me goosebumps, now it was enough to make me tear up.

The icing on the cake is that this hymn has a political meaning as well. It has been used at every Rugby League Challenge Cup final since 1929 and rugby league is the northern, working class version of rugby, a song held deeply by generations of miners. Using it is therefore a subtle rebuke to the legacy of Thatcher, whose heirs now rule the UK again, just like the use of Jerusalem, another of Sandra’s favourites, could be seen as a clarion call for English socialism. Whether or not this was Danny Boyle’s intent…

London can take it



In less than five minutes the Olympic Games officially start and we’ll find out if all the obnoxious security measures and corporate corruption was worth it. I don’t think there will be any great disaster, just the usual crap associated with the modern Olympics. There will be debts and white elephants and all the nuisances you get from hosting the Olympics, but as the Public Broadcast Service say, “London can take it”.

(The original WWII propaganda film)