Art of Modern Rock: The Poster Explosion
by Paul Grushkin and Dennis KingChronicle Books, 492 pp., $60
Line one, chapter one: “Fueled by a curious mix of psychedelic and punk rock, the roots of the silkscreen movement were laid down in Austin, Texas, in the Eighties.” Ground zero was River City studio space shared by local old-, medium-, and new-guard poster artists Micael Priest, Danny Garrett, Guy Juke, and Postererectous Man of the Modern Era, Frank Kozik. “I Am the King of Sleep,” Kozik’s first silkscreen – electric chair Tex Avery – when crossbred with an L.A. art gallery, “quietly marked the beginning of a revolution that would expand outward from Austin like shock waves from a seismic event.” Seismic being the operative word for Art of Modern Rock: The Poster Explosion, the long-awaited follow-up to Paul Gruskin’s momentous coffeetable crusher, 1987’s The Art of Rock. What rock posters of late-Eighties post-punk and last decade’s alternative rock explosion lack in sheer imagination – subbing pop culture imagery for the psychedelic baroque of first wave Sixties pioneers – is rendered moot by their roaring whirlpool of 21st-century life. In fact, the only thing missing from Art of Modern Rock: The Poster Explosion is a shot of Thorazine to come down after 492, 11-by-13-inch full-color supernovas. Kozik, Lindsey Kuhn, Lee Bolton, Jason Austin, Lyman Hardy, and Nels Jacobson, aka Jagmo, all current or one-time Austinites, help illustrate the first pages of Poster Explosion, hawking gigs like KGSR’s anniversary show, Emo’s recent Turbonegro poster-off, and an I Love You but I’ve Chosen Darkness pledge. Coop’s demonic Crumb-ling, John Seabury’s psychotic pineapple, Derek Hess’ industrial stone lithos – it’s practically a one-stop SXSW Flatstock. And that’s only the first chapter. Four-page spreads by Kuhn, Austin’s Factor 27, and even a snapshot of Red River rambler Billy Bishop nestle among the Madicisms of Ward Sutton, Dan Blakeslee & John Howard’s Dick Tracy line art, and David Witt & Tom Bagley’s noir. Guy Burwell’s Thee Michelle Gun Elephant stand-ins would tickle any scarecrow. “The Devil Made Me Do It” chapter, with its two-page Sgt. Pepper exorcism (Chemical Brothers, Austin Music Hall), is offset by Tara McPherson’s Tim Burton feminism in “Power Tools.” Groupings of String Cheese, White Stripes, Donnas, Pearl Jam, and a large school of Phish are speared by propaganda for Ed Hall, Trail of Dead, and Joe Strummer. “New Realities” introduces the childlike androgyny of Leia Bell and Emek’s skeletal dynamism, while “No Boundaries” is an all-too-brief flip through postage from Italy, Germany, Australia, Croatia, Mexico, and Japan. No flu here, but you’ll still need that shot.
This article appears in December 3 • 2004.
