Magic Kids

Indie youths of Melbourne, forgive me. You are going to hate me for this review.

Before I begin, it’s only fair that I even the playing field. I’m from Sydney and, at 31 years of age, I am ancient by your measure. Old, and a sin city dweller – that’s every reason you’ll ever need to hate me back.

On Friday 11th March, I walked into one of Melbourne’s much loved live music venues - the Northcote Social Club. On that particular night, however, the Social Club had been sucked into some kind of gig vortex because I found myself at what could only be described as a rehearsal for a trio of bands. There were some nervous teens in Chook Race, a semi-proto-punk threesome in Woollen Kits, and a stage full of bored Tennessee rock popsters in Magic Kids.

The tween crowd gathered at band rehearsal introduced me to two words that I would not be taking back to Sydney with me: Garage Jam. In their logo’ed tees, tight jeans and non-prescription (aka fake) reading glasses, the pre-foetal indies bandied those two words about like nothing more fashionable had ever left their lips.

Chook Race opened the evening. While there’s no mistaking that it takes guts to perform originals live, the teens were but baby chicks in headlights that night; prematurely hatched into the public domain. Their seemingly under-rehearsed set was all the more troubled by some off-key and inaudible vocals. A busted guitar string and dropped stick didn’t help either, spurring panicked stares and confusion amongst the band.

Woollen Kits were up next. The Kits’ proto-punk baseless sound was solid enough, though dampened by the lead singer’s awkwardly timid baritone. Some have suggested they show glimmers of greats like Modern Lovers and Beat Happening, but the Kits are so short of owning their sound right now that the comparison is unworthy. As the Woolly lads sprouted tracks about cats, young love and other trivial themes, they didn’t quite match the promise they display in their recorded work. Perhaps a few more months of gigging will accustom them to the prying and expectant gaze of an audience, and give their onstage presence a much needed boost. Until then, I suggest forgoing them live in favour of their 7” Teenage Love.

Headliners Tennessee’s Magic Kids injected some life back into the eve but there was something amiss about their energy and attitude that night, which seems at odds with their sunny 60’s pop rock sensibility. Sullied by lacklustre energy, their take on upbeat multiple-part harmonies and major chords fell flat. Single Hey Boy was almost a saving grace, even inspiring a few indie waifs to sway. Seems Indies girls don’t dance. Indie girls sway. Somehow, having bedraggled long hair and a skeletal frame prevents one from all expulsions of energy. Snore. I’d rather stay home and watch a fat kid dance his freakin’ heart out like a Jedi on YouTube.

The Chooks, the Kits and the Kids all possess promise, but would do well to leave their garage doors closed a little while longer until they refine their stage presence, attitude and craft. If they don’t, expect their longevity as bands to be as brief as an indie youth’s attention span.

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