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From 1945 to 1951 my cartoons and covers were featured in The Record Changer magazine, an obscure monthly for traditional jazz record collectors. The original cartoons, none of which I now own, are bought and sold on eBay and other venues for collectors, and have earned me a core of loyal fans who know me only for this old jazz art. Now all the surviving CATtoon lovers will at last have a complete collection of everything I did for The Record Changer, and for years beyond, many of which have never been published before. The extremely rare cover designs will be published in their original colors, restored from mint copies loaned by avid collectors.

Here is part of the text from the double-page spread and front cover of the new Fantagraphics catalog, which I immodestly reproduce:

“On the long road to becoming an Oscar-winning animation director, Gene Deitch was an intense fan of traditional jazz. At the age of 21 he discovered

The Record Changer, a jazz collector’s magazine filled with fanatical, scholarly, and purist essays about jazz as well as listings of hard-to-get 78RPM shellac jazz records for sale or trade.

Every jazznik in the 1940’s was called a “cat,”derived from the West African word “Katta,” meaning a human. So Gene Deitch created a cartoon character called “The Cat” which quickly became a fixture in the magazine, along with his cover designs, exploring graphic statements of the trad jazz shtik. Deitch’s stylistically virtuoso images exquisitely embodied the essense of jazz and became a visual paeon to the joy of collecting and appreciating jazz…”

…and yes, I really am the father of Kim Deitch!

The CAT on a Hot Thin Groove
Gene Deitch
Fantagraphics Books ISBN: 1560975261, $39.95 www.fantogrphics.com

Reviewed by Alan Jacobson, Cartoon Journal, February 2004


As I sit here, whacking away at the keys, something just feels wrong. See, I just got through this swanky, new collection of Gene Deitch's art for the first major jazz record journal, The Record Changer. Wasn't it any good? Well, it was excellent ... great portrait of the times, the music and the CAT himself. Then why the wigged vibes, dad? Well, I think Mr. Deitch puts it well in his relatively new cartoon where our hero, the Cat, is staring at a monitor and raving about cross-referencing 21,000 trumpet breaks with an attempt at the same fervor of rants past about his indexed Hot Fives sides. See, things that are ironic are often funny but in this case, the irony just seems to underscore how much soul the jazz collector has lost. The music which the Cat gushed over for the five years directly following WWII was all about human expression (cat, after all, deriving from the West African word "Katta," meaning human); you see, it's that feeling ... all about heart and art. This is why I feel ridiculous tapping away at this sterile keyboard; yet much like the Cat attempting to cope with Bop and modems, we must soldier on.

Record collection was once a passion that arose from necessity. Means of reproduction were not yet in the hands of the consumer, so the collector had to be meticulous. Needles had to be replaced after each play, or these precious shellac (a previnyl composite made from beetles, among other materials) rarities would most certainly be savaged with little hope of ever hearing the tune, much less finding and cataloging it again. The Record Changer developed as a direct response to this singularly eerie Zeitgeist jazz inspired. From its beginnings in the middle of 1941, as a stapled-and-Xeroxed newsletter featuring reviews and columns by noted jazz aficionados and future label-starters, Orrin Keepnews (Riverside) and Nesuhi Ertegun (Atlantic) to its demise in 1956 (due to poor business decisions), the Changer evolved to a level of respect beyond reproach of even that rare bird, the jazz fanatic (to get an idea of this type, just imagine Maynard G. Krebs on a wicked caffeine high chasing you around your apartment while shattering all of your Glenn Miller records on your head).

Gene Deitch's magnificently expressive covers and cartoons featuring the barely semi- autobiographical "Cat" helped The Changer reach its lofty status among budding jazz scholars and aficionados. An avid N'Orleans-style jazz collector himself, Deitch began the cartooning side of his illustrious career at the tender age of 20 as "the art department" of what was essentially the first jazz review publication. His career as an animator and scenarist would eventually contribute to his departure from the magazine. Mr. Deitch was a busy man. There was the concurrent work at Hollywood 's cuttingedge animation studio, UPA (Mr. Magoo). His celebrated animation for Captain Kangaroo and Tom & Jerry followed. Then there was the Oscar he earned for his animated adaptation of Jules Feiffer's remarkable Monroe strip, which led directly to a horde of accomplishments and a new home in Prague . But that's another story, one told, in a sense, by his son Kim in 2000's Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

The Cat on a Hot Thin Groove is as celebratory of the music as it is critical of the collector. This is what keeps the cartoons from becoming tired or de rigueur. There is a lot of love here. For every cartoon that features The Cat admiring a groove while ignoring his curvaceous company, there is generous compensation in not only his other drawings, but even within the critical strips themselves. Note the style of August 1949's cover, which lowers the color scheme to "orange" to focus our attention on a wooden level of abstraction as two bikinied women attempt to draw The Cat out of his Jazz-art-inspired stupor. The women look a bit confused, albeit marvelously rendered. But the bliss in simple posture, expression, and what we actually see steaming off of The Cat in a variety of "plewds" and "briffits" (I'll explain later) come close to describing the much-described feeling of jazz. (an Ellington song, by the way).

And, indeed, Deitch's cartoons work both as abstract, (verging on) absurdist, expression and social comment. On the most obvious level, he's talking about the music and how it affects a fan. But on a more subtle level, we see Deitch digging into how this revolution at 78 RPM affects others. Check out the briffits launching out of his son's (now blown) mind as The Cat regales him with a bedtime story from the Louis Armstrong tribute issue of July-August 1950. Or on a heavier level of social commentary, let's take a look at September 1947's cover, where the stage and area behind the fence do equal work to imprison a few black people. Swarming freely about the rest of the page are whites, dancing and living the high life. Or bring it down a notch, to where The Cat, on the couch for his record affliction (May, 1949) sees the face of Mr. Gillespie, on his therapist. Gene Deitch's book works on so many levels. The art is fantastic, the humor wry, the jazz is actively beloved, but there's an awful lot to chew on in every piece of work here.