LESS YOUNG, BUT STILL FULL OF THE DEVIL
Teenage angst transcends generations. It’s a rite of passage every rocker worth their patches knows inside and out, and for those who cut their teeth on early ‘90s Australian rock, there’s a good chance it was Magic Dirt who filled their muffler-sized headphones mid-tantrum. Up front, Adalita Srsen was a poster girl for power: she pummeled her strings with vicious indignation, screamed with a passion that walloped her peers and, come the end of their sets, beat the everliving shit out of her instruments.
But it was hard to keep that flame alight in the wake of Dean Turner’s untimely death. Their founding bassist, Turner was core in stirring up the magic behind the Dirt, and after a sole tour in commemoration of his legacy, remaining members Srsen, drummer Adam Robertson and shredder Raúl Sánchez decided to hang the towel up for good.
Though enticing, offers to reunite were shot down by Srsen and co. without a second thought. Magic Dirt were a family, and to simply replace Turner would be to bastardise what it was that Magic Dirt stood for in the first place. It
