80s News Today

The wind howls through the pines tonight like a banshee (or should that be Banshee, with a capital "B"?) with a stubbed toe, but my mind isn’t on the cold. It’s on a different kind of winter—the one that settled into the spinner racks in January 1980. I remember the smell of those old drugstores. Stale tobacco, floor wax, and the sweet, electric scent of fresh newsprint. I reached past the Archie digests and the gothic paperbacks, and there it was: Uncanny X-Men #129 . The cover had that frantic, desperate energy John Byrne and Terry Austin caught so well. You didn’t just look at it; you felt like you were being pulled into a dark alleyway by your coat collar. And like 99% of the time you're pulled into a dark alleyway, you weren't coming back. This was the start of "The Dark Phoenix Saga," but the real magic wasn't in the cosmic fire. It was in the introductions. Chris Claremont, a man who understands the machinery of the human soul better than most, de...

It was November 1980. A time when the concept of an internet that could tell you the nutritional value of a kumquat in under a microsecond was still, well, utterly preposterous. And amidst this glorious tapestry of human folly, new wave, and fashion faux pas, something truly remarkable occurred. The Beano , that venerable, vibrant, and utterly unhinged periodical, published its 2000th issue. Picture the scene: it is 1938, and the editors of D.C. Thomson & Co. in Dundee are staring at a blank sheet of paper the way early man once stared at fire—equal parts terror and the dawning realisation that this thing might be useful for keeping warm, cooking mammoths, or, in their case, keeping small boys quiet on a Saturday morning. They fill the sheet with Dennis the Menace, Minnie the Minx, and the Bash Street Kids, whose collective IQ hovers somewhere around room temperature on the Kelvin scale. The comic is launched. Britain shrugs, buys a copy, and promptly forgets to cancel the subscrip...

It was November 1982 when a kid walked into the 7-Eleven in Aspen Hill, Maryland, and one of the greatest comic book issues of all time was just sitting there on the spinner rack: Arion: Lord of Atlantis #1, published by DC Comics. Now, there's no salesman or carnival barker in a comic book shop, much less a convenience store, to sell you on one title or another. The cover has to close the deal, and Arion #1 had one that could reach from the depths to reel in the pre-adolescent buyer hook, line, and sinker. Arion, Lord of Atlantis - that's enough right there, when you think about it...just the title alone captures the imagination of a child already enraptured with the legends and mysteries of that vanished civilization. But there he is, standing over a vanquished foe, crimson-lined midnight blue cape swirling around a superhero frame enrobed in intriguing Atlantean-by-way-of-the-Xavier-Institute garb, laser eyes burning with suggested god-like power, clenched fists glowing wit...

Entry Date: The 10th Month of the 7th Standard Galactic Year After the Battle of Yavin From: Lord Vader, to be disseminated for authorized Imperial eyes only. Subject: Vader Lives! The graffiti seen on walls in inefficiently-run cities across the galaxy is true. I, Darth Vader, live, and command your unreserved allegiance as your Emperor. It has come to my attention that a new installment in the continuing saga of my galactic dominance – what the primitives call "comic books" – has been released. Marvel Star Wars #88, they brand it. October 1984. A trivial date in the grand scheme of the Empire, yet even these paper pamphlets serve a purpose: to remind you of my power.  In our endless task of crushing the Rebellion, moments of true interest are few. Most are a predictable cycle of insurrection, followed by inevitable Imperial retribution. But recently, an event has unfolded that warrants a modicum of attention, if only to recognize the machinations of a truly useful asset. A...

Alright, buckle up, because we're not talking about your friendly neighborhood web-slinger swinging through a sunny Tuesday in Queens. No, sir. This ain't no brightly lit adventure. This is something else. Something older. Something that crawled out of the deep, dark corners of superstition and voodoo, spiritual truths for many in our world, right into the fantastical pages of a comic book. The year was 1980. The month was October. The air was getting so crisp you could imagine snow was falling fast just over the horizon, and on the spinner racks, amidst the heroics and the villainy, an issue of Amazing Spider-Man landed. Number 209. You picked it up, probably for the usual dose of wall-crawling action, maybe a quip or two from Peter Parker. But inside, between those brightly inked panels, something new, something wrong, was stirring. Her name was Calypso. She didn't announce herself with a grand entrance, no cackling monologue from a rooftop. That's not her style. She...