Are You There God, It’s Me Maggot (Candy Ass)
by Mark Phinney
At first I didn’t know what to do, or where to run and hide from this feeling I had discovered in the cockles of my surf-imposed ears, when suddenly it came to me: LET IT HAPPEN. OK, so be it then, and in heat flashy concurrence I received the message, the soul-searching message of the Surf Maggots… Thank you, God. Could this be? Could this exist in the free world, a surf band with a message and a more independent feel than a sub-zero college radio station on the outskirts of Iceland? The Maggots make me feel alone and trashy, but a good alone and trashy. Sometimes being alone in that alleyway of the bedroom when you’re 16, and you have no idea what’s on that tape your big brother left on his desk, but you listen, and you know what you have to do. It’s you and your tape now.
The second track, “Drockula,” is a trashy little ditty harking back to the simpler time of punky little go-go pieces, smoking butts in the basement sound. I consider myself a sort of phony authority on surf music, however these visitors who catch me at a vulnerable point know how to take the elements of surf style apart and piece it back together in new and unidentifiable ways. The Maggots hail from the great white north, where a few years back we were invaded by another type of new rock. Actually, it was an all out assault, a deal with the devil that Seattle had made. However, does this mean a new scene could converge in a nationwide attempt to bring surf music to the stereos in the suburbs? I hope to hell not. In addition to their own rough boy style, they have on their hands a female voice, which we all know I’m a sucker for. She screeches and spits, and lends her talents to some of the better tracks here. Grab a carton of smokes, roll up your sleeves, and, oh yeah, go get a copy of Lucretius’ On The Nature Of Things, and listen to the Surf Maggots.