For better or worse, in sickness and health, women in pulp don’t have a heck of a lot of choice about it.
Pulp is a place where the men are decisive and the women are as light as feathers. We’ve gotten together a collection of paperback covers featuring women being spirited away to places unknown, usually unconscious, by men and things that are less than men. You have art from Harry Schaare, Saul Levine, Harry Barton, Alain Gourdon, aka Aslan, and others.
It isn't even a party unless you make a mess.
We had no idea there’s a porn star named Rebecca Lane, nor that she has starred in something called Creampie Surpise, but you learn something new every day. That Rebecca Lane is not to be confused with the author Rébecca Lane, who wrote Surprise-Party for Éditions Le Styx’s collection Les fruits verts in 1958. Not to say the other Rebecca Lane isn’t talented in her own right. She very likely is. Creampies are hard to make, especially if they have those crumbly crusts. Anyway, judging by Aslan’s art, the party Rébecca Lane writes about here must have been a real surpise to get such a reaction. Alternatively, the pair could be dancing. But that’s always true, isn’t it? We all could be dancing. Okay, we’re done in France. Back home and back to other types of posts tomorrow.
Aslan dreams up a wish that comes true.
Above, L’Auberge des étreintes written by A. Clavelle for Presses de la Nuit’s collection Les quatre vents de l’amour, 1958. The great cover art of a femme fatale in a plunging swimsuit is by Aslan. We’re pretty sure swimwear like this didn’t exist in 1958, but they soon became this revealing and even more so. The guy was a visionary.
Miles away from ordinary.
National Informer Weekly Reader once again dabbles in real journalism with a piece about Juan Corona, the Mexican-born killer who in 1971 committed what was at the time America’s largest serial murder. Corona was violent-tempered, savagely homophobic, schizophrenic, had been institutionalized earlier in his life and had endured electroshock treatments. When he finally snapped and went on his spree it was to rape and murder twenty-five male farm laborers during a six-week period and bury them in the orchards around Yuba City, California.
Among many strange aspects of the crimes, Corona typically chopped crosses in the backs of his victims’ heads with a machete, and buried them face up with their arms over their heads and their shirts pulled up to cover their faces. Reader doesn’t offer much new information six months after his arrest, opting instead for a few big photos and short captions. Even though Corona typically wore casual work clothes, Reader digs up a photo of him in a sombrero and charro suit, because nothing says, "I'll chop up you, your family, and your little dog too, motherfucker," like mariachi garb. Using an atypical photo is of course a transparent move to make certain subjects appear more alien to readers, and it remains a common and highly troublesome aspect of American murder coverage today.
But Reader is a tabloid, after all, and so elsewhere in the issue you get more standard tabloid fare—five women giving up secrets about Farnk Sinatra, Mandy Burnes explaining several ways to beat a hangover, a fearful story about the coming explosion in the number of hippie doctors, a guide to Soho for swingers, a millionairess who made her fortune selling German sex aids, and the usual assortment of bad cartoons. Also, we have a suspicion that’s an Aslan pin-up on the front cover, which would be the second Reader has stolen—er, borrowed. Nineteen scans below.
Spread-eagled Aslan art helped cure the guilt of buying pirated music.
We said we were done with France for the moment, but we’re veering back there briefly today to show you this Cure album sleeve featuring art from the French painter Aslan. Live at Paradiso is a bootleg, same as the other Aslan-fronted Cure record we showed you back in January. The people who pressed this weren’t messing around, either—they opted for one of the artist’s more explicit paintings. No complaints here, but we bet Aslan was a bit annoyed when he saw his work appropriated yet again. It wouldn’t be the last time. We’ll get to more bootleg sleeves a bit later.
Out of the fires of war came romance.
We’re sharing one last item from our France trip before moving on to other items. We haven’t run out of Parisian purchases, though—we’re just saving the rest of our finds for later. Above is another cover of the photo romance publication Nous Deux, which we mentioned was a French version of an Italian magazine put together by the brother of the two Italian publishers. That brother was Cino Del Duca, who was a major cog in the French Resistance during World War II, and earned the Croix de Guerre for his efforts.
After the war he launched a small publishing house in Paris and built that into a successful business. Later he diversified into cinema, and extended his publishing arm into West Germany, Great Britain, and his native Italy, building an empire in the process, and using his ample profits for philanthropic pursuits. When he died in 1967 streets were named for him in Paris and Biarritz, and today a major French literary award bears his name—the Prix Mondial Cino Del Duca.
The cover of this Nous Deux, with its happy and colorful holiday theme, is by Aslan, a prize-winner in his own right (he was given the prestigious Commandeur des Arts et Lettres in 2003). Some online sources say his covers appeared on the magazine only in the early 1960s, but 1968 is the date on this, and it’s one of his more beautiful pieces, we think. Now it’s time to put our French material aside and focus on other countries the way Cino Del Duca did. We’ll have more from him and Nous Deux later.
Love and other art forms.
Above, a great piece from Aslan, aka Alain Gourdon, fronting Le pays de l’amour perdu, aka Country of Lost Love, written by Y. Patrick for France Euro Presse’s series Le Roman de Minuit. Y. Patrick was in reality Jacques-Henri Juillet, and he was aka Roland Yann Patrick, Henri Chamelet, Carol Paterson, and others. Basically, you’re nobody in French pulp if you don’t write under an entire phone book of pseudonyms. 1959 is the publication year on this.
If the song had been anywhere near as good as the cover art it would have sold millions.
Today we’re back to the recently deceased Aslan, aka Alain Gourdon, bringing another of his album sleeves to light. Unlike the amazing Cure bootleg we posted before, this appears to be licensed usage of Aslan’s work by the French group Super Nana for their 1987 maxi single “Lachez les chiens.” The title has something to do with dogs, apparently, which is appropriate, because this song is a bag of flaming poo. Even our fine appreciation for dance music can’t help us enjoy this awful electro disco effort. Just our opinion, though—you can listen for yourself here, if you’re inclined. We’ll have more from Aslan soon.
Legendary pin-up artist Aslan dies.
Sad news for the art world came across yesterday with reports of the death of Alain Gourdon, aka Aslan. He once said that he painted and sculpted women because the subject was inépuisable et éternel—inexhaustible and eternal. Certainly the work he produced over the decades has been both. Aslan lived in Canada for the last twenty years and it was there he died of a heart attack yesterday, aged 83. Above and below are two photos, one of him living the good life with two of his models, the second showing him (sort of) working. We'll put together a collection of his art soon.
Aslan art makes unlikely appearance on Cure album sleeve.
A couple of weeks ago we said we’d get back to more Alain Gourdon, aka Aslan album sleeves, so above is a rather eye-catching one for a collection of Cure songs entitled The Spell’s Unbroken. It’s a live release that was recorded in Birmingham, England in 1985 and pressed in Germany in 1986, and it’s got such Cure goodies as “Kyoto Song,” “Let’s Go to Bed,” and the excellent “In Between Days,” as well some more obscure tracks. The album is unofficial—or a bootleg, if you prefer that term—so in theory it was pressed and sold without the band’s participation. We also assume Gourdon hadn’t a clue about the art. And wouldn’t you know it—the record sells for exorbitant amounts of money, routinely over a hundred dollars. We don’t know about you, but that’s enough to cure us of any urge to buy it.
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