There’s a feller who was quite a regular attendee of gigs in Sydney in the mid ‘90s who got himself a tattoo of the Magic Dirt logo which sat proudly atop his arm around the time of their debut album, Friends in Danger. The band was regarded quite the big white hope after their two early EPs dominated the Australian indie-charts, where Life is Better spent an astounding 75 weeks. His subsequent sleeve art grew at an alarming and almost ashamed rate as the band were churned through and spat out of the major label wringer taking many musical and stylistic deviations along the way.
When I last saw the guy in question, the logo had been reduced to a mere background piece of an ever-more complicated inky puzzle, and he seemed to favour increasingly lengthier sleeves on his shirts. If he hears Girl, he may just reach for his singlets again. Magic Dirt are in quite a rich vein of form, having released two mini-albums last year, following on from a 2006 EP that was the first release on the band’s own ‘Emergency Music’ label. Magic Dirt seem to be relishing revisiting their earlier noise-making without the constraints of a record label to intervene.
Girl, their sixth full-length album, starts off as if it’s in a rush to get somewhere. The first trifecta of tracks roars out of the blocks with a raw-riffing urgency. Opening track Get Ready to Die is a scathing, seething blast (how does “Burn your fucking make-up” grab you ladies?) that ticks in at a quick-fire two minutes twenty-five. The next pairing effectively exploit Adalita’s really quite tuneful melodic vocal capabilities over the charging guitars before Six Feet Under – as most references to death and morbidity seem to do – lowers the tone somewhat. Always is a haunting, almost sparse track, which is the equivalent of a long cleansing bath to wash away the grit and err, dirt that precedes it.
Now if this was a good ole’ fashioned vinyl album, there would be a definite and distinct two sides to this story. If the first half of the album was all about the raw, raucous energy then the last five tracks are the late-night/early-morning remorse-filled comedown afterwards. White Boy and Full of Rope are the trepidatious steps, skirting around half-formed recollections and emotions. Tremor is the tinge of regret at a fleetingly recalled jagged memory pieced together through a squalling drone of guitars. Penultimate song Cupid’s Bow sees the band sprawl out over a throbbing eight minutes before More the jarring, shuddering full stop to proceedings.
Magic Dirt seem utterly comfortable on this album, they dabble into various tones and shades across the ten tracks without creating a disjointed affair. The extended guitar flailing on the last two tracks in particular – which make up more then a third of the album’s duration – will gladden the heart of older fans, but it’s the way they nail the shorter, punchier numbers that may win them some new ones.
