When you have a new comic from Ted McKeever, just about the only thing that’s certain is that you’re going to have a bit of oddness. That’s a good thing, in my book; I remember first encountering his Metropol back in 1991 and being simultaneously bewildered and enchanted. Twin Peaks was big at the time and I remember thinking that McKeever was to comics what David Lynch was to television and film. I don’t think it’s a comparison that still holds muster now, but you get the basic idea. Meta4 is McKeever at one of his stranger moments, but at the same time I think it could be one of his most accessible stories to date.

It’s hard to sum up, after just one issue, exactly what Meta4 is really about. Readers quickly meet an amnesiac astronaut (or at least someone in an astronaut suit) wandering a mostly deserted down, encountering lowlifes and a woman dressed up at Santa who doesn’t so much speak as gives you a sense of what she’s feeling. That’s the bulk of the issue right there; there’s not huge amounts of plot progression or big moments that will stand out as, "Here’s what’s happening." Then again, this is a series whose title is a play on the word "metaphor." I don’t think we’re going to get something that’s terribly direct.

Now with that in mind, there’s a certain tone and quality to Meta4 #1 that made me enjoy it immensely. Maybe it’s the relative innocence of the amnesiac man trying to figure out where he is, or for that matter who he is. He’s made everything an open book and while some of his actions seem a little odd, he’s so honest about his befuddlement that he comes across all right. You don’t need to know anything about genre conventions, or comics, or really anything at all as you plunge into Meta4 #1, and I think that readers could fall for this story if McKeever paces it out carefully. Shows like Lost have proven that the casual public can fall for a, "What the heck is going on here?" story if there’s a hook to drag them in.

It helps that Meta4 has a hook in the form of McKeever’s black and white artwork, probably some of the best of his career to date. When the astronaut first encounters the abandoned carnival, it doesn’t look so much like a drawing as it does a wood cut that’s being reproduced in comic book form. As the smoke wafts up, you can see every spoke on the ferris wheel, every wooden slat on the windows. Even the smoke itself is exquisitely crafted, feeling full and heavy to the viewer while still being unmistakably smoke.

And from there, the book just keeps looking more gorgeous. Graffiti reflected on the astronaut’s helmet looks eerie and unsettling, like the ghost of a vampire rising up to look at the reader. The thick pieces of hair from the Santa Claus wig remind me of pieces of straw, or maybe a system of veins, each forking and hanging in a splayed pattern that ends up being entrancing. And when the astronaut finally takes of his helmet, there’s such a sense of befuddlement and confusion on his face that you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him, lost and dazed as he is. McKeever’s art looks beautiful the whole way through Meta4 #1, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if people stuck around based solely on the illustrations.

Meta4 #1 is a good first issue, but at the same time the series is going to need to tread carefully from this point out. Enigmatic hints about a dispatcher aside, readers are going to want to see a little more about what’s really going on, and expect some sort of answer. I’m not saying that McKeever needs to spell everything out, but a give and take will have to happen eventually. For now, though, I’m satisfied with the first issue. It’s nice to see McKeever back in full weird mode again.

While American readers in general aren’t familiar with Jonathan Ross, he’s a force to be reckoned with in the UK. A hugely successful television and radio host, Ross writing his own creation Turf is certainly a big deal there. Ross is also known for being a big comics fan, with a collection to die for as well as reading all sorts of current comics. So knowing that he’s paired with veteran comics artist Tommy Lee Edwards, it would stand to reason that Turf could avoid a lot of the beginner’s mistakes that people from other disciplines make when crossing over into comics. The reality, though? Well, that’s something else.

Ross’s story involves an alien turf war in 1929 New York City, with homegrown organized crime getting into the mix as well. It’s not a bad idea at all, mixing the mafia with alien vampires and letting them duke it out for control of the city. What we get, though, is one of the most wordy messes I’ve seen in a while. Ross might be familiar with comics in general, but he seems to have utterly missed the idea that they’re a marriage of story and art. This is a book that drowns in word balloons and narration panels. On some pages, the art appears to be actually fighting to push its way out of a sea of lettering, so badly obscured that it could have been drawn be by anyone. There’s a point where you can almost see Edwards give up on the inevitability, shoving the head of a character into the corner of a panel because there’s simply no way to fit all that dialogue in otherwise. The entire panel looks off-center and amateurish, but it’s not the fault of Edwards.

The thing is, some of this could have been easily cut down. Lengthy droning passages talking about the history of rooms are unwelcome in a book where the narration is already well beyond the overload point, and while I understand that Ross wants to get every single idea and fact into his book, he needs to learn when it’s time to talk and when it’s time to bury the research and character notes. We get long interior monologues about how someone can’t wait to write a tell-all book about the scene they’re in, but until then they’re going to just keep writing for a society column. No one thinks like that to themselves, it’s nothing short of ludicrous. And yet, Ross keeps foraging on, a strange combination of narration box and thought balloon (complete with quotation marks for the first and not for the second, despite the fact that the two are conjoined) hovering over the character’s head like a tethered blimp that’s unable to escape. Ross may have come up with a great initial idea, but the execution of this comic drowns out anything and everything that we might otherwise get out of the comic.

The sad thing is that Edwards is an excellent comic artist. I love the way he draws comics, almost as a merging of old-fashioned photography and four-color action. He is able to nail everything here; the old-time clothing and fashions, the ornate rooms and parlors with all of their furnishings, and a lot of energetic action. On the rare times when some of Edwards’s work actually bubbles up to the surface in Turf #1, you can see just what a bang-up, beautiful job he’s done. It’s a rare moment in this first issue, though, and it must be frustrating for Edwards to have put in all of this work only to see it banished behind John Workman’s lettering.

Turf could have, should have been good. Until Ross learns how to cut back substantially on his script and let the art help tell the story (as well as learning that less is more), though, it’s an almost unreadable comic. You’ll want to like Turf #1; it’s got a nice idea, and what visuals we do see are expertly executed. But for now, I can’t possibly imagine wanting to buy a second issue.

I don’t mind when comic creators try and play with the format of comics; when done properly, I applaud it. When reading Chase Variant One Shot (Is All I Need), though, a corollary to that general rule quickly came into play. Not only do creators need to have a solid reason for playing with form, they also need to understand when that shift in format has turned from something different and interesting to a gimmick that’s starting to bore your readers.

Based on Rich Johnston’s thanks at the start of the issue, it looks like Chase Variant One Shot (Is All I Need)‘s three stories were originally published in an anthology (or multiple books) from Mamtor. I can’t help but think that isolated from one another, these stories might have held a stronger punch. The initial story is amusing enough, as Johnston tells an adventure story in the top two-thirds of each page, while the bottom third shows it all to be playing out thanks to a collectable card game in the "real world." That’s the gimmick, as cards, hands, and comments from players at the bottom of each page dictate what’s to happen up at the top to poor Chase Variant, a four-armed assassin.

After the initial story, though, the joke is already out there. The second and third stories follow the same format, and while they both try to spice things up by having an external object from the real world drop into the narrative, it’s already feeling old hat. Chase Variant One Shot (Is All I Need) quickly becomes a poster child for the idea that some groups of stories are best left uncollected, or at least not without additional stories to space out the similar ones from one another.

Saviero Tenuta draws the first story, and it reminds me of back in the day when Angel Medina was drawing comics for McFarlane Productions. Long lanky characters, a smear of colors on the backgrounds that look overly rendered, and graphic exploding heads. The story and art really don’t match one another, which is perhaps why Bagwell takes over the art for the second and third stories (as well as the cover). Bagwell’s art for the second story reminds me more of old, computer-generated art, with slightly stiff poses and figures that looks a little too smooth and polished. There’s a tweak before the third story, and that’s easily the best looking of the three. Everything seems slightly less slick and stiff, which is a shift for the better. It’s still not great art, but it finally hits the level of acceptable.

Chase Variant One Shot (Is All I Need) isn’t a bad idea—it’s actually an amusing one—but a little goes a long way. The title says that a one shot was all the character needed, but I think a single story would be a more apt statement. By collecting these three stories, Johnston managed to undo the good will earned in the first story by stretching it out into two additional pieces. Somehow, I suspect that’s not the effect he was aiming for.

I know I’m not the only person who misses Fell, Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith’s series for Image that quietly stopped publishing (for now) after nine issues. So while it probably isn’t fair to instantly start throwing out comparisons between Fell and Choker, I will admit that it was my missing of Fell that made me decide to check out Choker. While the two share an artist and a certain sensibility, though, it’s in the writing that the two series definitely part ways.

Choker, perhaps by virtue of it being just a six-issue limited-series, is a book that has a stronger focus on plot right from the beginning. We quickly meet Johnny Jackson, a former cop turned into private investigator. As we follow him throughout Shotgun City, we learn about his situation and what he’s going to have to do for the rest of the mini-series. Ben McCool makes sure that is obvious that Jackson’s life is anything but good—so being given the opportunity to go back on the force in exchange for a favor makes sense, even if red flags are going off for the reader when it comes to the legitimacy of the deal. So while Fell was more about single bursts of story that all stand more or less alone, with Choker we’re being promised a longer, sustained story with subplots and a build towards a climax.

That said, one thing I did find similar between the two series was that both pay close attention to setting-as-character. Shotgun City instantly feels like an entity in its own right, that sort of crime noir scene that’s been boiled down and then mixed with a bit of science-fiction. So we get the streets, the neighbors, the clubs, and the mad science all making an appearance in Choker. Part of it is certainly due to Templesmith’s art, but Shotgun City feels alive almost instantly. You get the distinct impression that McCool and Templesmith have mentally mapped out the city in terms of what it’s like to live there, what people do for fun, and which kind of person is not going to bolt from the city limits the second they hear a whisper of jobs elsewhere.

Templesmith’s art is as breathtaking as always. His pencils and inks are impressive in their own right, giving Jackson an unattractive potato-shaped head that makes him stand out in a crowd, but one with surprisingly expressive eyes whenever they open wide in fear or shock or terror. From wrinkles around eyes to a double-chin, Templesmith draws no one as a fashion plate; they all look startlingly real and average and slightly run down. It’s a great way to populate Shotgun City, and it brings everything into stark focus. The one exception are the new cops with their Man Plus genetic enhancement program, all looking super-hero perfect with tight bodies and muscles. It’s this contrast that makes them stand out, where in other books they might have blended in. After all, it’s hard to recognize out of the ordinary when even the average person is being drawn well above average. Templesmith’s colors are the icing on the cake, though, with neon tubes glowing, street lights shining through exhaust and smoke, and a sickly yellow radiance coming from the office lighting. Templesmith shows as a back-up feature just how he puts all of his art together, and if anything I have even greater respect for his art now than I did before.

Choker heads out of the great with a strong first issue; I’d forgotten how much I enjoy Templesmith’s art, and while this is the first comic I’ve read from McCool he’s definitely someone I’ll check out more from in the future. If they can keep this story rolling all the way to the conclusion, I’ll be impressed and pleased. Choker is the sort of comic that makes you tried something new.

I have a confession to make. I stopped reading The Walking Dead a few years ago. As much as I’d enjoyed the early storylines, the series started coming across a little too grim and unforgiving. That’s a slightly strange comment to make about a story where the world is taken over by zombies, but it just got to be too much. For better or for worse, Rick and company simply couldn’t catch a break at any time. Everything always went badly before too long, and it was an ongoing crawl through barbed wire. But when I heard that The Walking Dead was (at least temporarily) locating to Washington DC, I had to give it another shot. The lure of the book being set where I’ve lived for over 35 years was a little too hard to ignore.

The comic starts off with a self-aware moment that simultaneously reassured and worried me; The Walking Dead‘s protagonist Rick is being rebuked by some of his fellow survivors for being unable to trust the new group of humans who have offered to take them in. "Now matter how hard I try—I just can’t take that at face value," he admits. One of the characters agrees, noting, "You can be skeptical all you want—by all means be miserable at this place. Just don’t ruin it for the rest of us." It’s as if Kirkman has turned to the audience and admitted two things. First, the ludicrously high level of disaster that seems to follow Rick, and second, that it will probably come again. Like the historical Typhoid Mary working at a new kitchen, it makes you wonder if these new people see the black cloud hovering above Rick’s head, letting the bearer of disaster into their home.

That said, I found myself excited in spite of my concerns. Charlie Adlard has taken great care with photo references of the DC area to get it "right." Buildings are the correct height, the Beltway, even the Tidal Basin. The expedition into DC itself to rescue trapped members of the new community is exciting and gets your pulse racing a little bit; I’d forgotten how much fun an issue of The Walking Dead could be. So while I got the added bonus of seeing my home town overrun with zombies and our characters trying to dash in and out, it’s still strong overall. When the mystery of how this new group of survivors has survived is finally revealed, it felt like a bit of déjà vu to an earlier set-up, but at the same time it’s still believable. I’m hoping that future issues have more about "what life is like here" and less of "must keep fighting zombies" going on; it’s the ideas of pockets of survivors and how they get on with their lives that ultimately enthralls me.

Adlard’s art, as mentioned before, captures the DC area surprisingly well. I don’t want to take away from the fact, though, that in general it’s excellently drawn. I didn’t recognize half of the characters but they were all distinct from one another, looking like real people instead of faceless masses that surround Rick. He’s also good with action, something I hadn’t remembered from my earlier The Walking Dead experiences. You can practically see the people sprinting and scrambling in the Capitol Hill neighborhood where the rescue takes place; a combination of tight focused drawings, large wide shots to show the entire scene, and a strong sense of movement keeps the reader’s view of the action forever shifting and bobbing around, never letting you get complacent as you read the book.

This was a startlingly fun comic. I’m afraid that in time we’re going to end up with everything in ruins and Rick and company back on the road again, but until that happens I think I might just have to stick around and see what happens next. I’m kicking myself for having given my old The Walking Dead collections to a friend a few years ago, but perhaps this is an excuse to finally pick up some of the newer, slick-looking hardbacks. Congratulations, Kirkman and Adlard, you’ve pulled me back into the fold.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

For a non-comics related project, I recently had to perform a lot of research about avian flues. You can imagine my surprise and amusement, then, to read Chew #1 and discover that one of the plot points involves, yes, avian flu. But I have to give John Layman and Rob Guillory credit, this is absolutely not the way that I’d have expected such a take on current events. Anyone else might have served up a grim, depressing story, but Chew is a funny dark comedy with a sharp premise.

Pity poor police officer Tony Chu. Tony has a strange condition, in that whenever he eats something he suddenly gains its memories. Animals, vegetables, it doesn’t matter—he’ll get a flash into its life up to the point of death. (Well, unless it’s a beet. Which probably says a lot about the life of a beet.) The one thing Tony doesn’t have to worry about gaining past memories of, though, are chickens. That’s because chickens are now an illegal substance due to an outbreak of avian flu resulting in their banning. Now Tony and his partner John Colby are arresting people for contraband chicken, trying to help shut down illegal speakeasies that serve up that delicious but forbidden flesh. Well, until the night that everything went wrong…

I have to give Layman credit, he takes an odd story idea and really runs with it here—but not in the way you’d expect. After introducing Tony’s cibopathic ability, the book swerves into a story about illegal chickens, speakeasies, and FDA agents. In other words, it has absolutely nothing to do with what Tony does or doesn’t feel when he eats food. More importantly, though? It’s a fun and engrossing story. I love the idea of taking Prohibition-era set-ups and seeing them transplanted into the 21st century, and having the FDA serve as a law enforcement agency fits the rest of Layman’s set-up for Chew in a way that just seems right. When Tony’s special eating ability finally does come back into the picture, the reader may have forgotten about it entirely. Suddenly the two plots converge, but once again not in the way that you might immediately expect. Layman turns up the bleak, dark humor in Chew; as a dry plot synopsis, some of the events of this book will sound a little disturbing and upsetting. In Chew, though, it’s something that makes you laugh. It’s gross and a little gruesome (but not graphic!), but I couldn’t help but just keep snickering to myself as I read and re-read Chew #1.

Part of the humor certainly comes from Guillory’s art, here. I like the way he draws the characters, in a slightly cartoonish and exaggerated way. It makes the subject material come across a little lighter and more humorous than if it had been drawn in a more realistic way, and it’s that slight caricature nature that gives extra punch to the script. Guillory’s able to really push the speakeasy waiter’s good cop/bad cop routine with this extra emphasis, for example, or able to make Tony’s partner look that much more perturbed when their sting operation is disrupted by the FDA. Most importantly, though, some of the final scenes might very well have lost their humor if Guillory hadn’t drawn them in such a light and funny manner. I think that’s actually where I got sold on Chew #1, and with Layman and Guillory’s partnership on the book.

Chew #1 has all the right elements; good central idea, a strong script, and just the right art. It’s nice to see a good book like this getting so much attention, and with any luck it’s just the start of a long collaboration between the creators. With this first issue kicking off a five-part story titled "Taster’s Choice," I can’t help but think that a lot of people will be back each month for another little nibble. It’s a good debut, and I definitely want to read a lot more. Good, silly fun from start to finish.

Everyone knows the old "they fight crime" game; you take two radically different professions and adjectives, attach them to people, and announce that they fight crime. Just like that, you’ve got a movie or television pitch just waiting to happen. In the case of Bad Dog, I can’t help but think that Joe Kelly did just that but changed the ending to, "They’re bounty hunters." It would certainly explain a lot towards the genesis of this strange little comic.

Wendell and Lou are bounty hunters, but that’s the most normal thing about the pair of them. Wendell’s a fast-swearing, faster-drinking man who seems to have an aversion to wearing shirts. Lou’s the calm and collected one, but he’s also a werewolf who doesn’t change back to his human form. And somehow, these two are supposed to be protecting innocents by taking scum off the streets—for a reward, of course.

Bad Dog #1 is a meandering, all-over-the-map introduction to our two main characters, and I can’t help but wonder if this is a style that Kelly plans on keeping for the entire series. In some ways Bad Dog feels more like a collection of vignettes; the guys go drinking, the guys hit the convenience store, the guys try and take down their prey. It’s a book that certainly goes all over the place, and while it’s good for setting a tone, its less-than-direct nature may very well scare off some readers. If nothing else, though, Bad Dog #1 is a great introduction to Lou, the reluctant werewolf. He’s definitely the one to cheer on, with his cool head and wry disposition. He’s certainly easier to warm to than Wendell, whom after a while you can’t help but wonder if Kelly is using in an attempt to see what his readers’ breaking point is. So far he doesn’t seem to add much to the book, save for a slight streak of foulness and to be slumped off in the corner; with any luck, later issues will delve into this a little more and make him a bit more interesting.

Diego Greco’s art in Bad Dog is slick and smooth, almost like it’s been airbrushed onto the page. It’s a style that makes a werewolf staring into a refrigerator look absolutely natural, and it was at that point that I knew I was a fan of Greco’s art. His character portraits go a long way towards defining the feel of Bad Dog, from Lou’s stoic strength and stature, to Wendell’s slightly slimy and greasy nature. Greco’s also good with the action sequences in Bad Dog #1; a guy face-planting into the ground after being thrown often looks cartoonish, but here Greco makes it seem as natural as a werewolf leaping over a fence. Ok, perhaps a bad comparison, but you get the idea.

I’m curious to see where Bad Dog will go from here; it’s not a bad concept by any stretch of the imagination, but it doesn’t quite stand out as much as it could right now. I’m hoping that the recurring milk carton motif and Lou’s reaction to them is going somewhere—I think that sort of longer-term story is what is missing for me right about now. Still, there’s promise, and it sure is a beautiful enough book to add that onto the list of attractions. For the moment, it’s definitely on the radar.

I’ve been reading Steven T. Seagle’s comics for a really long time, and the one thing that has connected them all is an apparent willingness to keep from being pigeon-holed into a single genre or style. So while Soul Kiss may not have any specific hook or twist that you’re used to seeing in lots of other Seagle books, I somehow couldn’t help but feel that it was recognizably written by him. I guess when the closest you can get to a writing trait is, "Anything can happen," that’s not really a bad thing at all.

Lili is a Hollywood production assistant, but that’s not important right now. She’s also contemplating graduate school, but that’s also not important right now. What is important is that Lili made a deal with the devil in order to survive an attacker, but now she’s discovering that her deal isn’t over and done with. So while Lili survived unharmed, she may have accidentally thrown away one of the few good things in her life.

Seagle’s script for Soul Kiss #1 is all set-up, laying out the road for everything still to come in the comic. We see Lili’s horrible job, the even worse encounter in the desert, and her relationship with her boyfriend Damon. He does a really good job of bringing Lili’s world to life for us, showing its ups and downs; by having the book told in a first person narration, it’s that much easier to get inside of Lili’s head. Comments like, "I never fail. Never. But I did…" do a good job of bringing out Lili’s anguish at everything that went wrong with her day and the ill-fated interview trip, and begin to show the cracks in her otherwise tough-as-nails exterior. My only real complaint with the writing is that it made me slightly wish for this to have been written strictly as a graphic novel, because things are just starting to get rolling when we’re at the end of the issue. It’s amazing how spoiled one can be when it comes to cliffhangers, these days.

Marco Cinello’s art is new to me, but I really like it. Cinello uses two different styles for illustrating Soul Kiss, and each of them fits perfectly with what Seagle’s trying to accomplish with his scripts. The flashback scenes, as Lili reflects on what brought her to her current state, are very rough and loose, almost as if they were drawn in crayon. Don’t mistake that style for being unprofessional or ill-fitting, though; the more you look at Cinello’s art in this style the more you will see how much care and craft has gone into them. From the horrific moment in the desert where everything goes wrong, to the appearance of the devil, every single character looks very distinct and visually interesting. Lili’s attacker’s stubble and leer pops out at the reader, and the devil’s shroud of red and slowly emerging red horns ends up looking much creepier than any standard depiction of the character could have looked like.

We also get a few sequences with a crisper, more finished style. These work well too, even as they’re still very recognizably by the same artist who drew the rest of the book. The lines are now containing solid shapes instead of jagged swipes of color, and it’s a very attractive look that reminds me a bit of modern animation. It may sound a little surprising but at first I was actually a tiny bit disappointed that Cinello was using this more traditional style in Soul Kiss as well, I’d grown so accustomed to what he did in the rest of the book. The more I looked at the rest of the art, though, the more I appreciated it as well. He’s able to work with the smaller background details here, from funky lampshades to an attractive bedspread.

Soul Kiss #1 is a good start to this five-issue mini-series, but like I said before, the one downside is that it stops right when it really gets going. If you read interviews with Seagle you can find out what the rest of the thrust of the mini-series will be, and it sounds more than interesting enough that I’m definitely on board for the rest. If you haven’t read those interviews, though, I’d actually recommend avoiding them and just planning on buying the next issue so you can see for yourself what Seagle and Cinello have in store. There’s a lot of promise, here, and so far it’s paying off quite nicely.

Ah, Youngblood. The very first publication of Image Comics back in 1992, Rob Liefeld’s creation is one that has shown up in many different forms and incarnations—but ultimately ones that never quite seemed to last. This latest incarnation is courtesy Joe Casey and Derec Donovan, who are in many ways taking Youngblood back to its original concept. I have to give them credit, too; for the first time that I can remember, that concept seems to have actually shown up in the comic itself.

The United States Government is ready to re-assemble their premiere superhero team, Youngblood. This time, though, it’s going to do more than just fight crime. With a continual media barrage, from reality shows to video games and action figures, Youngblood is anywhere and everywhere. For some members, like Badrock, it’s a dream come true. For others like Shaft, though, it’s actually cause for concern. And the more that Shaft learns about what’s really going on with the latest incarnation of Youngblood, the more he doesn’t like the truth.

I remember those initial interviews with Liefeld about Youngblood and how part of the idea was that this would be a team firmly rooted in the media world; they’d be treated like celebrities, their every move and action tracked by paparazzi and news shows. The actual comic seemed to never really bring that idea together, but Casey clearly hadn’t forgotten that idea. Here, he takes it to the next level; they’re not only continually showing up in the media, but the media is continually being served the members of Youngblood. It makes sense in this day and age; they’d absolutely be farmed out to talk shows and morning programs, just like how recording artists and movie stars get shuffled onto the promotional circuit. There are some scenes in an early issue with two members of the team getting scolded by someone they’ve never met—because it would make a great scene on the reality show and they needed a new villain figure—that sum up the entire process and also Casey’s disdain for it.

At the same time, though, Casey is dishing up a solid story that is also about fighting crime and defeating the bad guy. Sure, the initial villains of Youngblood are ones manufactured by their handlers so that there is a flashy battle to be scene on the television, but Casey isn’t afraid to let the basic set-up slowly change and adapt. So while some members of the team are still stuck in the official, government-sanctioned Youngblood, others have broken off to form their own team that is actually doing some good. It’s a nice mix between the two; a little something for everyone to enjoy, and it keeps the book from feeling stale or played out. I appreciate that it didn’t take some characters long to figure out that something was up (if they were all still in the dark they’d just look like idiots at this point), and the end result is a fun little story.

Donovan’s art improves from issue to issue; he’s getting quite good at using his slightly cartoonish style to have just a touch of reality about it, which is important for a book that has its characters meeting up with Oprah Winfrey or Larry King. There’s also a sense of grace about the characters; they move and slide across the page rather easily, and it makes the action sequences easy to follow and comprehend. Donovan’s art style is about as far from Liefeld’s original Youngblood art, but the more I see of Donovan’s finished pages the more convinced I am that he was the right choice to draw the book.

Youngblood is a fun book; not since Alan Moore’s short-lived revival of the title has Youngblood actually appealed to me enough to pick up issues and keep reading. Some of the characters still seem a bit of a cipher—especially Cougar, who having never appeared in Moore’s version of the book feels like a bit of a blank slate to me—but Casey’s done a good enough job with characters like Shaft that I’m certainly willing to stick around and see what he does with the rest of the characters. Add in great concepts like the Televillain (who can not only jump through television signals, but actually alter reality by transmitting himself into archive television footgate) and there’s a lot of good stuff going on here. It’s a fun book, and it’s nice to see Youngblood finally fulfill that promise we got back in 1992.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com

I liked Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie’s original Phonogram mini-series. It was a clever comic, with Britpop being used as magic in a story that served as both a musical and magical history of the UK. Both have gone on to other comics, like McKelvie’s Suburban Glamour and Gillen’s Newuniversal and X-Men Origins one-shots for Marvel. Now that they’ve reunited for Phonogram: The Singles Club, though, I’m not only happy that they’re back together, but I’m tentatively saying that this new Phonogram mini-series may well knock the socks off their earlier collaboration.

Seth Bingo and the Silent Girl are hosting a club night, and Penny B can’t wait to go. She’s a Phonomancer, one whose powers come through dancing. Once Penny and her friend Laura get to the club, though, they’re hardly the only Phonomancers present. And as Penny tries to get the man (and dance song) of her dreams, she’s about to discover that she is hardly the only person who is trying to accomplish something that evening. How successful she is will almost certainly have to do with not only her own actions, but that of everyone else present…

Phonogram: The Singles Club is taking a much different tactic than the first Phonogram mini-series. Here, instead of one long story told through multiple issues, we’re getting seven different characters whose paths and stories all intersect at the same club. Each issue taking a different Phonomancer’s perspective of the night, the idea is that every issue will stand along on its own, but the more you read, the more you will discover about all of the different stories and how they interconnect. Now, I can’t say how well the latter works just yet, considering that this is only the first issue. In terms of how well each issue can stand on its own, though, I think it’s safe to say that Phonogram: The Singles Club #1 is the one that most crucially needs to work in this manner. After all, if the first issue is incomprehensible, the chances of readers coming back for #2 is slim to none.

Happily, that doesn’t seem to be a problem at all. I really feel like we’ve got a full story about Penny here, admittedly one that’s entirely from her perspective. But Gillen writes a story that begins and ends with her, and even as you want to see just how some of the other characters are really feeling and interacting with Penny’s self-absorbed nature, it does indeed stand on its own as a strong story. It’s a really promising beginning to Phonogram: The Singles Club and it makes me feel that the remaining issues will be that much stronger once the other pieces begin to slot into place.

McKelvie’s art in Phonogram: The Singles Club is unsurprisingly good. I’ve always felt that McKelvie is good that he not only draws people well, but has a real eye for how people look and what they actually wear, and that’s on display here in full force. Because Phonogram: The Singles Club is primarily set in a dance club, McKelvie’s visuals will determine how realistic that setting is. Honestly, I could look at McKelvie draw modern fashions all day long; all of his characters look like they have their own wardrobes from which to make choices from, and Phonogram: The Singles Club is no exception to that rule. It’s also nice to see McKelvie’s art in color again; as accomplished as I think he is with black and white art, getting to use color means just one more aspect to pay attention to with how he draws his characters, even if that just means a flannel shirt will have red checkers instead of white.

Phonogram: The Singles Club #1 also has two back-up stories written by Gillen. “She Who Bleeds For Your Entertainment” is a sharp, cutting comment about emo music and its treatment of women. Honestly, I’d like this story if only for the use of the word “emosogynist” but it’s a short, to the point, good piece with strong illustrations by Laurenn McCubbin. It’s definitely a memorable story, and one that makes me hope that the theoretical collection down the road of Phonogram back-up stories can become a reality. (Until then, whenever that might be, the only place to get the back-up stories is in the issues themselves.) “Murder on the Dance Floor” with art by Marc Ellerby is a bit of a throw-away, a fun little joke about wedding reception songs, but it made me laugh a great deal. It doesn’t have the same punch as its other back-up compatriot, but I appreciated its levity and was just the right note to end the first issue upon.

Phonogram: The Singles Club #1 is a great comic; a very strong main story, two good back-up stories, plus lots of historical footnotes from Gillen at the end of the comic. I love that Gillen’s following the route of people like Matt Fraction’s Casanova in that he’s making each individual issue of Phonogram: The Singles Club a fun little event in its own right, not just a waiting zone until a collected edition shows up. Gillen, McKelvie, and company are putting out a really great comic here. Highly recommended.

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