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 The Prefab Messiahs (4 Albums, 15 Tracks)


basement party, 1982 (photo: Bobb Trimble)
the Bobbmobile, summer '82 (photo: Bobb Trimble)
(photo: Bobb Trimble; tweakage: Trip Thompson)
excerpt from "Desperately Happy" vid (art: Xeth Feinberg)
still from '83 vid for "The 16th Track" (Lilly Farkas)
(art: Xeth Feinberg)
(photo: Bobb Trimble)
(photo: Doc Michaud)
LOCATION:Wormtown (Worcester) MA, 01610
ACTIVE:1981 - 1983
  • Xerox Feinberg
  • Doc Michaud
  • Trip Thompson
  • Ned Egg
  • - also at various times:
  • Billy Brahm
  • Egg Al
  • Tony Serrato
  • Gary War
  • Ned Egg
  • Bob Sargent
  • The Horrible Blob
"Well, the Rolling Stones come to town / Don't throw The Prefab Messiahs out of bounds / God save those dreamers / They're all that's left sometimes"  ─ Bobb Trimble, "Armour of the Shroud" ******** [the following is from a leaflet passed out at The Prefab Messiahs' first show, Nov.
1981] "...Was it only 3 or 4 weeks ago that the future PREFAB MESSIAHS first pooled their cosmic energies and talents, and ─ crooning their messages about our Plastic Age ─ decided to totally revolutionize Pop Music? The Concept was shocking in its boldness ─ 4 young men with a Destiny ─ from the Store 24 to Mister Donut their eyes burned with what they saw, even as they lapped it up faster than a small order of McDonald's fries. Reality could not keep the PREFAB MESSIAHS down! Still, if the Media is the Message, just what are these guys talking about? In short, they're talking about you and me and no one in particular ─ about the kind of Eternal Struggle that most "bands" and "musicians" don't even realize exists.  There is too much to if you want to hear some aging, overpaid rock dinosaur's hit single, go buy the original and play it on your own two-bit stereo system. The PREFABS aren't interested ─ and chances are, they wouldn't be able to play it anyway. The MESSIAHS defy classification; they transcend all musical and social borders...So who and/or what exactly are the PREFAB MESSIAHS? One day I happened to walk in on one of their practices at radio station WCUW (before they were thrown out). There were no drums ─ just some buckets and cans and a snow shovel scrounged up for a cymbal. The guitars were plugged into two tiny amps; there was no microphone. The singer's voice had given out, the generic lead guitar was chronically out of tune, the rhythm guitar was missing a string, and the bassist's fingers were blistered and bleeding. I asked them why they didn't stop ─ just give up the whole hopeless enterprise. Their response was truly characteristic ─ first they grinned, then they laughed, and then they began laughing until froth poured from their gaping mouths, mingling with the blood from their raw hands and the spilled beer on the filthy floor. And then I knew ─ they were 'IT'." ─ Duane

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