Los Angeles Times: November 16, 1985
"Are you looking for an inherently bogus religion that will tell you that you are above everyone else?" asks the Church of the SubGenius.
If the answer is yes, then SubGenius is the answer to your prayers. This satirical religious cult -- which operates in the between-the-cracks area of performance art (a label the church is not particularly fond of) -- first reared its twisted head sev en years ago in Dallas and now claims a congregation of 25,000 members.
The church makes its local debut this weekend at the Alexandria Hotel downtown with the "Pre-Armageddon Gut Blow-Out," a multimedia extravaganza that includes musical groups Doctors for Bob and the Band That Dare Not Speak Its Name, sermons (that SubGe nius refers to as rants) and videos.
A convention takes place today from 4 to 9 p.m. The Church of the SubGenius has a thriving merchandising operation, and church officials promise that "lots and lots of beer and SubGenius paraphernalia will be on sale." (For more information: (213) 68 7-7362.)
Ten core members of the church held a press conference at the Anticlub on Thursday, and this is what was learned. The Church of the SubGenius worships J.R. (Bob) Dobbs, a pipe-smoking chump who resembles Fred MacMurray in his "My Three Sons" period. According to its mythical scripture, Dobbs was assassinated last year during his first public appearance.
Catering to a society of weak minds diseased with paranoia and an insatiable appetite for easy solutions to life's problems, the church promises to fulfill your every wish. As part of its subversive commentary on the arbitrary nature of objects of wor ship, the church encourages mutiny among the ranks. "This is a disorganized religion," explained founding member Rev. Ivan Strang. "That's the whole point of it."
With a sales pitch that combines the best elements of a Veg-O-Matic commercial and the Rev. Gene Scott, the church revels in insupportable conclusions and empty rhetoric. Fed on the media's avalanche of bad art, false information and the hysteria of t he tabloid press, the church offers a self-interested alternative to est, Scientology, aerobics, Rubik's Cube and Garfield the Cat. "Yes! You can rape your own mind," promises the church. "You can finally relax in the safety of your own delusions!"
Manage to persuade one of the church elders to converse out of character for a moment (not an easy task), and you'll learn that the church is a nationwide network of artists that produces revivals, books and videos. The central activity, however, is c orrespondence. "We handle over 30 pieces of mail a day," said Strang, who lives in Dallas where the church is based.
The church also has weekly radio shows in cities throughout the United States. Anyone interested in studying the finer points of the gospel according to Bob can purchase "The Book of the SubGenius," recently published by McGraw-Hill.
With goony cheers worthy of the Three Stooges, mind-boggling insights and secrets revealed, the hourlong press conference shed but scant light on the complex mythology of Bob. When the elders conducted a central church ritual -- the communal passing o f a burning $1 bill -- the Anticlub's proprietor, a middle-aged woman named Helen, hollered from the back of the club, "What do they do exactly? I still don't get it."
Spoken like a true SubGenius.