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2024

Everyday Urban Sounds: Ben Katchor’s Julius Knipl Radio Cartoons

Benjamin Fraser

Résumés

Ce article étudie les « radio cartoons » de Julius Knipl: Real Estate Photographer, une série de quatorze brèves fictions sonores, produites par David Isay et diffusées en ligne, adaptant l’œuvre du même titre de Ben Katchor. Déjà très « sonore » en elle-même, la série américaine de comic strips est saturée de sons de la vie moderne et elle développe un usage particulier de la parole, en termes de rythme langagier notamment, qui se prête bien à l’adaptation acoustique. L’article montre comment les « radio cartoons » remédient à la fois la radio et la bande dessinée, en les replaçant dans leur contexte culturel de diffusion.

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Notes de la rédaction

This article is a review paper and has not been subject to double-blind peer review. It has been read/edited and approved by the editorial board.

Texte intégral

  • 1 These are #03, “The Ointment Expert” (based on the eponymous strip, see 1996, p. 20); #04, “The Esc (...)

1Ben Katchor’s Julius Knipl radio cartoons prompt readers—strike that, I mean listeners—to confront one of the more intriguing intersections of sound and comics. Available online are fourteen radio cartoons, which can be thought of as audio versions of his specific comic strips (these are linked through https://katchor.com/​julius-knipl-radio-show.html). While #01, “The Last Stop on the Subway,” presents a specific unnamed comic from the collection Cheap Novelties (2016 [1991], p. 24), and #02, “At the Door of the Candy Store,” sits adjacent to the content of another (2016 [1991], p. 48), the remaining twelve bring to life individual named strips collected in Julius Knipl, Real-estate Photographer: Stories (1996).1 What to make of these unusual audio cartoon offerings?

  • 2 My strips begin with a written script. It’s easier for me to write than draw—it’s less of an inves (...)

2It helps that they have already received some scholarly attention. Perhaps first of all, a brief but substantial consideration of the radio cartoons appears in chapter three of Ian Hague’s Comics and the Senses (2014, p. 82-84). Hague asserts that among their essential aural qualities there is the texture of the voice, what Roland Barthes referred to as the “grain” of the voice, or “the materiality of the body speaking its mother tongue” (Barthes 1977, p. 182, qtd. in Hague 2014, p. 83). It is easy to agree with Hague that “the already strange rhythms and language structures of the Julius Knipl series are perfectly suited to the aural form, and benefit from the audible effects that form can employ” (2014, p. 83). One of the allures of his collected strips is the prosody of his characters’ speech. After all, words themselves are primary in Katchor’s creative process, as he has emphasized in interviews.2

3Katchor’s visual comics often present conceptual absurdities, ideas taken too far, or unusual perspectives on everyday life. Seemingly causal observations hold a deeper meaning. Many times, they advance a critique of the market economy or unmask our consumeristic urban obsessions. In this context, it is fair to ask whether the radio cartoons are best thought of as adaptations of his pre-existing comics work, or whether the visual comics and the radio cartoons are both complementary ways of bringing the same original thought-concept to life? I lean toward the latter understanding.

4It is relevant to note that the artist’s visual comics are quite frequently infused, even saturated, with sound. Katchor’s strips rely on sound in multiple ways: for their linguistic and cultural associations, their humor and creative play, their evocation of character, their investigations of urban life, and their more philosophical or transcendent meanings. In the second chapter of my book Ben Katchor (2023), I discuss a number of representative examples of his comics where the role of sound is primary, including “Twelve-Noon Siren” (1996, p. 57), “The Drowned Men’s Association” (1996, p. 1), “The Faulty Switch” (2014, p. 4), “The Beauty Supply District” (2000, p. 85-108), and “The Radiator Musician” (1996, p. 68), as well as various untitled strips included in Cheap Novelties ([2016] 1991), The Cardboard Valise (2011), and the Hotel & Farm (2002, 2004) series. I include extended analyses of “The Ringing Pay Phone (2000, p. 18), “Euro Trash/American Garbage” (2014, p. 58), and even two pages from The Jew of New York (1998, p. 32-33) that all place sound front and center (see ch. 2 of Fraser 2023, p. 50-70). Indeed, one can think of Katchor’s foray into radio cartoons as a way of complementing the crucial role that sound already plays in his visual strips.

5Ben Katchor has explained the origin of the cartoons by saying that “[there was] an interview with me at NPR [National Public Radio] and they said well how do we talk about a visual form on the radio? And the producer David Isay said, well, we’ll make, you know, 19th-, early 20th-century radio dramas out of them and we can play a few of them, you could hear them at least, with actors playing the parts” (Katchor in Katchor and Groth 2023). The reason why the moniker “radio cartoon” was selected for this set of sonic comics is worthy of further consideration. If sound is important to Katchor generally, the radio itself is also highly evocative as both a communal listening practice and a more specific symbol. We might take his visual comic titled “The Transistor Radio Listener” (1996, p. 70) as an example of how he approaches radio technology within a decidedly social framework. The first of the comic’s eight panels begins by drawing out attention to a casual observation made by everyone’s favorite urban flaneur, the character Julius Knipl. The boxed narration at the top of that first panel frame reads: “Mr. Knipl notices yet another man in the street with a small transistor radio pressed to his ear.” In the same frame, a word balloon directly presents readers with Knipl’s thoughts: “A big game? A new war?” Here is established a quality that is quite common in Katchor’s work, as the voices of the third-person narration and the first-person character approach and play off one another. Generally speaking, it is the contrapuntal energy between Knipl’s focalization and a distinguishable, close-to-omniscient narration—one that considers but then resists overtly expressing sympathies or judgments—that gives these visual strips their distinctiveness (e.g. see Fraser 2023, p. 18, 36, 112). In this particular strip, the role of the third-person narration box is replaced by the voice of another passer-by who happens to appear just in time to offer Knipl explanations of what he observes. As the radio listener repeats what he hears out loud, this third character—a stand in for his boxed narrator—explains the larger picture to Mr. Knipl, and thus simultaneously to readers: “They seem so calm, mere idlers, but in fact, these men are the bulwarks of all human decency. They act as buffers against the horrific onslaught of daily news. We sit in the sun and consider our moral options while they go through three sets of batteries in a week!” (Katchor 1996, p. 70, panel 4). This back-and-forth between the strip’s characters is what arguably propels the comic forward. There is pleasure in the very phrasing of the verbal exchange: Knipl’s punctuating questions immediately give way to the primary tension between the radio listener’s endless list of major events and mixed minutia (panel 3), and the passer-by’s deeply perceptive, even philosophical explanation of the latter’s behavior (panel 4). The second row shifts this primary tension into a form of call and response, with the panel frames parsing the musical prosody of the exchange into a series of staccato interruptions.

  • 3 The implicit reference is to a central metaphor (the sidewalk ballet/choreography) contained in Dea (...)

6“The Transistor Radio Listener” provides readers with quintessential Katchor fare in its emphasis on sound and gives us insight into the social context of radio. First and foremost, the act of reading the strip becomes the visual equivalent of overhearing a conversation. The vocal quality predominates here, just as it does throughout the artist’s oeuvre. The “grain” of the characters’ voices is expressed perhaps through the lettering on the page as a graphic object, but also indirectly—via the formal properties of comics art—through the personalizing qualities of the images, which also express the “grain” of the artist’s voice (see also Baetans 2001). In Katchor’s Knipl strips, the voice of the artist includes the voices of the narrator and characters alike, branching out into diverse expression. Here, the voice of narration and the voice of Julius Knipl himself dance along the urban streets in an aural sidewalk ballet, constituting a form of sonic choreography rendered at once through the artist’s permutations of text, image, and style.3 To read the strip is to hear in one’s mind—and not merely read—many disparate and overlapping voices. More important, the strip’s approach to its chosen subject matter of the radio is splendidly ambivalent. The radio listener is framed as both comically obsessed and as a serious archivist of the trivial. Even the triviality of it all is questioned, as per the explanation regarding war: “During these international crises, they live their lives with only one hand free…” (panel 5). The comic, which is among those collected and republished in 1996, is ostensibly about how individual people serve as privileged nodes in global flows of information. It presents quite clearly a form of late-twentieth-century information exchange that has all but disappeared and brings to mind another set of Katchor’s central themes: the passing of time, obsolescence, and the vanishing ideal of shared urban community. If anything, Katchor’s strip today reads somewhat paradoxically as both dated and timeless, a characterization that would seem to apply more broadly to his comics. The rise of twenty-first-century news cycles perhaps encourages readers to see even more clearly the transistor radio listener’s obsessive behavior for what it is, just as it subtly underscores the continuing social value of a trusted news source.

7As expressed in “The Transistor Radio Listener,” Katchor is most interested in the radio as a social technology. Born in 1951, he grew up during a time when the cultural and social influence of radio was arguably still at its peak, despite the emerging popularity of cathode-ray television. Post-war urban environments were saturated with radio in particular, and among the offerings were dramatic radio shows delivered in theatrical style with punctuating sound effects. Though born in 1976, I was often exposed to cassette tape recordings of popular crime dramas and sitcoms that had originally aired from the 1930s to 1950s (e.g. The Shadow and Our Miss Brooks). For me at least, the vocal delivery and format of Katchor’s radio cartoons is both familiar and rarefied in the same way as his visual comics. Younger generations who may later chance upon these audible comics online may not make sense of them using the same set of memories or expectations, but even this likelihood is in fact one of the essential aspects of the artist’s work. His choice of the radio as a designated medium is thus not experimental or based on a whim. Nor is it merely an aestheticization of nostalgia. Rather, the medium is the message. To tell a story about obsolescence, he turns to an obsolete medium. There is, as Katchor’s work informs us again and again, both loss and joy to be discovered as modernity marches relentlessly forward.

  • 4 Note that “After the war, [Lefebvre] worked for a while as the artistic director of a radio station (...)
  • 5 Katchor, in Royal and Kunka 2018 [2013], p. 120–21; see my discussion in Fraser 2023, p. 6, 110.
  • 6 The most concise distillation of Lefebvre’s project is provided by Andy Merrifield, who writes that (...)

8But one understands also that for Katchor radio is an index of certain social relationships. As a social technology, radio was—for the post-war spatial theorist and cultural studies pioneer Henri Lefebvre—an example of how “our civilization creates techniques which nevertheless have an ‘extra-technical’ meaning and character”; it is, along with television, a “leisure machine” (Lefebvre 2008, p. 32-33).4 He adds that the “work of art” does not constitute “an element of leisure,” but interestingly enough he maligns “picture books, and strip cartoons” as indeed being leisure, “evoking nothing so much as pre-digested food” (p. 33). Still, Katchor’s cartoons—both the visible and the audible—are clear examples of exceptions that Lefebvre could not anticipate. They do not fulfill the requirement of capitalist production that “leisure must break with the everyday” (ibid.), or the expectations that “leisure should offer liberation from worry and necessity” (ibid.). Katchor’s radio cartoons do not “distract, entertain or repose,” and they do not “compensate for the difficulties of everyday life” (ibid.). In fact, Katchor invokes the medium of radio precisely as a way of challenging the longstanding associations held in the popular imagination. To the consumerist frame of mind that seeks uncomplicated listening enjoyment he brings complications. In lieu of the easily digested entertainment product he offers up absurdity, along with a dose of bureaucratic municipal power. His works reflect an unflattering view of obsessive modern urbanites. Katchor does not use comics to escape from the everyday, but instead to reveal the routinely imperceptible forces that structure our deceptively mundane world. He turns to the everyday as social critique: to laugh at our foibles, perhaps relish in our obsessions, but also to expose our collective alienations, and to reveal that we are all “victims of design” in our daily lives.5 In this sense, Katchor’s comics work is complementary to Lefebvre’s own post-war project, the three-volume Critique of Everyday Life ([2008] 1947, [2002] 1961, [2005] 1981), which sought to uncover everyday life as the battleground between ideological forces and resistance.6

9Among my favorite radio cartoons of Katchor’s there is “The Staple in the Danish” (based on the eponymous visual comic, 1996, p. 41). Upon opening the sound file (currently an *.ram that one can open with VLC media player), one hears a voice stylized as a radio announcer of olden days speaking the title. This is followed by the everyday noises one would hear standing at a crowded pastry counter: the distant blathering of other customers and the shuffling of feet, for example. A man’s voice orders two cream puffs and “one of these. “That’s it?” asks an employee? “That’s it.” Listeners will recognize the actor voicing the next customer in line as Jerry Stiller, who then says “Lemme have a prune danish, and a regular coffee, for here.” The increased volume of the audio mix signals that this is our protagonist. A musical interlude begins, and we hear the voice of the narrator: “Toward the end of a perfect danish, Mr. Knipl discovers… A plum stem? An almond husk?” Stiller’s voiced Knipl interrupts with a brief spitting sound after “A plum stem?” and follows “An almond husk” with “No. A closed staple,” as if he were in direct dialogue with the narrator. The audio version of the comic, perhaps even more so than the visual one, conveys the effect of dialogue between two levels of the storytelling, bridging the chasm between narrator and character to which readers have become accustomed. The grain of the various voices conveys, perhaps much more immediately than the comic, the specificity of the urban milieu, the diversity of voices making up the modern metropolis.

10Certain differences are evident in the radio cartoon. The spitting sound just mentioned, for example, or the insistent sneezes of a sick employee that soon follow. These and other atmospheric sounds, strictly speaking, have no specific iconic or textual equivalent in the visual comic. When one reads a visual comic, the graphic style of backgrounds within a given panel frame are extremely important in creating atmosphere, but they hinge on the reader’s active participation and imagination. This is perhaps a form of closure that falls outside of the way this term is generally used in comics theory—the purposeful or instrumental understanding of action and plot emphasized by Scott McCloud, for example. What the radio cartoon does is bring these implied atmospheric and imagined elements to the foreground. These examples go beyond the idea of the “grain” of the voice to convey a different form of specificity. This process brings an aural “grain” to aspects of image that were left largely implicit. The radio listener here is still active in listening, filling in the gaps between what is heard and what is left implicit, it is just that this participation is different. (By contrast, for example, the parroted speech of the transistor radio listener is much more passive.) Katchor wants listeners to actively pay attention in order to imagine the whole scene taking place—note that those few radio cartoons accessible on YouTube (#01-#04) include a textual statement on the screen instructing listeners to “Please close your eyes and listen.”

11Other differences include added verbal detail and explanation. For instance, both the visible and audible versions include the reading of a direct quotation from section 7 paragraph 4 of a code that, since the year 1935, has specified the regulations for all prune danishes. Yet in the radio cartoon there is an additional reference to the “Copenhagen Condensed Shortbread Treaty of 1911” not present in the visual comic, which adds further humor through absurd specificity. The end of the radio cartoon moves beyond the visual comic’s final, eighth, panel with multiple sentences that include further explanation by the baker. These added sentences are in line with the theme of the visual comic. The radio cartoon ends with the statement by the baker that “Insurance adjusters are having a holiday at my expense… What can I do, bribe them with Linzer tarts?” As this statement reveals, both versions of “The Staple in the Danish” move from a frustrating incident through level after level of urban social context. The staple becomes a mere vehicle to explore webs constituted by management issues, health department inspectors, “standards of taste,” prune danish regulations, and even the requirement that the baker possess death certificates for any cockroaches an exterminator kills.

12Lefebvre writes in the second volume of his Critique of Everyday Life that radio takes trivial incidents and anecdotes and turns them into entertainment. But it is crucial how this entertainment is produced. Radio specializes in “the art of presenting the everyday by taking it from its context” (Lefebvre 2002 [1961], p. 76). But Katchor leans toward, rather than away from context. Just as in “The Transistor Radio Listener,” in this “The Staple in the Danish” radio cartoon he seeks above all else to contextualize. Yes, there is indeed humor in it, but there is also a critique: what seems an adversarial story ends by pitting the baker and the customer together against an entire production chain. Katchor reminds us that they are two insignificant nodes of a much vaster social machine.

13Ben Katchor’s radio cartoons are themselves best understood as distinctive re-appropriations of two distinct expressions of what Lefebvre called the “leisure machine.” By forging a mash-up of both comics and radio, Katchor doubles-down on the central conceit of his artistic craft—which is to restore the anecdotal, the incidental, and the trivial, from the world of mere entertainment to its properly social context. This is an absurd, alienated, and rapidly urbanizing world where we are all in one sense or another, victims of economic, cultural, and social forces much greater than ourselves. In Lefebvre’s terms, these radio cartoons are quite far away from being a mere “element of leisure,” and much closer to being a “work of art.”

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Bibliographie

Baetens, Jan. 2001. Revealing Traces: A New Theory of Graphic Enunciation, in Robin Varnum & Christina Gibbons (eds), The Language of Comics: Word and Image, UP of Mississippi, 2001, 145-155.

Balcaen, Alexandre. 2018 [2014]. “Interview.” Originally published in the French comics magazine DMPP. Reprinted in Ben Katchor: Conversations, edited by Ian Gordon, 138–151. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Barthes, Roland. 1977. Image, Music, Text. Edited by Steven Heath. London: Fontana Press.

Elden, Stuart. 2004. Understanding Henri Lefebvre: Theory and the Possible. London and New York: Continuum.

Fraser, Benjamin. 2019. Visible Cities, Global Comics: Urban Images and Spatial Form. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Fraser, Benjamin. 2023. Ben Katchor. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Hague, Ian. 2014. Comics and the Senses: A Multisensory Approach to Comics and Graphic Novels. London and New York: Routledge.

Jacobs, Jane. 1992. Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Vintage.

Katchor, Ben. 2016[1991]. Cheap Novelties: The Pleasures of Urban Decay. Montreal: Drawn & Quarterly.

Katchor, Ben. 2013. Hand-Drying in America and Other Stories. New York: Pantheon Books.

Katchor, Ben. 2011. The Cardboard Valise. New York: Pantheon Books.

Katchor, Ben. 2004. “Hotel & Farm.” McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern #13. Ed. Chris Ware. New York: Penguin Books.

Katchor, Ben. 2002. “Hotel & Farm.” Art Journal 61.3: 4-5, 28-31, 40-45, 74-77, 88-91.

Katchor, Ben. 2000. Julius Knipl, Real Estate Photographer: The Beauty Supply District. New York: Pantheon Books.

Katchor, Ben. 1998. The Jew of New York. New York: Pantheon Books.

Katchor, Ben. 1996. Julius Knipl, Real Estate Photographer: Stories. New York: Little, Brown.

Katchor, Ben and Gary Groth. 2023. “Gary Groth in Conversation with Ben Katchor, Aug. 29, 2023.” NY Comics and Picture-Story Symposium https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gF0HLrZB7so

Lefebvre, Henri. 2008[1947]. Critique of Everyday Life, Vol. 1. Trans. John Moore. London and New York: Verso.

Lefebvre, Henri. 2002[1961]. Critique of Everyday Life, Vol. 2. Trans. John Moore. London and New York: Verso.

Lefebvre, Henri. 2005[1986]. Critique of Everyday Life, Vol. 3. Trans. Gregory Elliott. London and New York: Verso.

Merrifield, Andy. 2002. Metromarxism: A Marxist Tale of the City. London and New York: Routledge.

Postema, Barbara. 2013. Narrative Structure in Comics: Making Sense of Fragments. Rochester: RIT Press.

Royal, Derek Parker, and Andrew J. Kunka. 2018 [2013]. “The Comics Alternative Interview with Ben Katchor.” Originally published in Comics Alternative Podcast, no. 28. Reprinted in Ben Katchor: Conversations, edited by Ian Gordon, 111–126. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Theroux, Alexander. 2018 [2004]. “Ben Katchor.” Originally published in Bomb 88. Reprinted in Ben Katchor: Conversations, edited by Ian Gordon, 50–59. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

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Notes

1 These are #03, “The Ointment Expert” (based on the eponymous strip, see 1996, p. 20); #04, “The Escalator Rider” (1996, p. 40); #05, “The Ink Eradicator” (1996, p. 39); #06, “The Staple in the Danish” (1996, p. 41); #07, The Remains of Dinner” (1996, p. 45); #08, “The Breakfast Special” (1996, p. 43); #09, “The Smell of a Post Office” (1996, p. 53); #10 “The Nail-Biting Salon” (1996, p. 55); #11, “The Double-Talk Artist” (1996, p. 62); #12, “The Radiator Musician” (1996, p. 68); #13, “The Siren Query Brigade” (1996, p. 31); and #14, “Directory of the Alimentary Canal” (1996, p. 17). Credits for the radio cartoons are available in the print version of the latter collection, but they also appear on Katchor’s website. These were produced by David Isay, with musical direction by Henry Sapoznik (with Peter Sokolow and Lorin Sklamberg), audio engineering by Caryl Wheeler, and voices by Jerry Stiller, Irwin Corey, Brother Theodore, Joey Faye, Eddie Lawrence, Sally DeMay, Bob Fass, Joe Franklin and James Randolph. Katchor is himself interested in a variety of artistic genres, such that he is also known for his musical theatre collaborations with Mark Mulcahy. The work with Mulcahy includes, Up from the Stacks, A Checkroom Romance, The Rosenbach Company, The Slugbearers of Kayrol Island, Memorial City, and The Imaginary War Crimes Tribunal. Katchor has also worked with “Bang on a Can (Michael Gordon, David Lang, and Julia Wolfe), Moritz Eggert, [and] Bob McGrath (Ridge Theater)” (Katchor, in Balcaen 2018[2014], p. 149). See information on The Carbon Copy Building, and There Was a Building. Or, The 58th Street Broiler at https://katchor.com/other-collaborations.html.

2 My strips begin with a written script. It’s easier for me to write than draw—it’s less of an investment of time and I can do it lying on my back. Once I begin drawing, the text is altered to function alongside the image. I see what can be better expressed with a concrete image. The abstract words take their proper place in the spectrum of the meaning” (Katchor, in Theroux 2018[2004], p. 54).

3 The implicit reference is to a central metaphor (the sidewalk ballet/choreography) contained in Death and Life of Great American Cities, by Jane Jacobs. Pictures in comics are not merely denotative but expressive. Style, as Barbara Postema has observed, is no longer superficial but rather substantial “In comics […] style ceases to be style, since it is no longer a superficial surface matter. Style becomes the substance of comics, through which each text speaks in a voice that is completely its own. Style signifies in comics” (Postema 2013, p. 122).

4 Note that “After the war, [Lefebvre] worked for a while as the artistic director of a radio station in Toulouse” (Elden 2004, p. 3).

5 Katchor, in Royal and Kunka 2018 [2013], p. 120–21; see my discussion in Fraser 2023, p. 6, 110.

6 The most concise distillation of Lefebvre’s project is provided by Andy Merrifield, who writes that for the French theorist: “Everyday life, instead, possessed a dialectical and ambiguous nature. On the one hand, it’s the realm increasingly colonized by the commodity, and hence shrouded in all kinds of mystification, fetishism, and alienation. […] On the other hand, paradoxically, everyday life is likewise a primal site for meaningful social resistance. […] Thus, radical politics has to begin and end in everyday life, it can’t do otherwise” (Merrifield 2002, p. 79).

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Référence électronique

Benjamin Fraser, « Everyday Urban Sounds: Ben Katchor’s Julius Knipl Radio Cartoons »Comicalités [En ligne], La bande dessinée à voix haute, mis en ligne le 01 novembre 2024, consulté le 12 février 2025. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/comicalites/9287 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/12w6u

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Auteur

Benjamin Fraser

Benjamin Fraser is professor in the College of Humanities at the University of Arizona. A scholar of comics and the urban experience, his books include Ben Katchor (UP of Mississippi, 2023), Barcelona, City of Comics (SUNY P, 2022), the Eisner-nominated The Art of Pere Joan: Space, Landscape and Comics Form (U of Texas P, 2019), and Visible Cities, Global Comics: Urban Images and Spatial Form (UP of Mississippi, 2019). His comics scholarship has appeared in the journals European Comic Art, International Journal of Comic Art, Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics, ImageText: Interdisciplinary Comics Studies, Studies in Comics, Romance Studies, Transmodernity, the Bulletin of Spanish Visual Studies, the Journal of Spanish Cultural Studies, and the edited volume Spanish Comics (2021, edited by Anne Magnussen). He is the founding editor of the Journal of Urban Cultural Studies and also serves on the editorial board of Studies in Comics.

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