It was sad to see legendary 'Release Me'-crooner Englebert Humperdinck's recent fruitless attempt at Eurovision. His flurry of deflating 'nul points', of course, instigated the same yearly deliberation over whether we'll ever be able to pen a frivolous earwormer capable of winning the darn thing again. Perhaps, in hindsight, it would have been a wise move to enlist the writing services of Geordie and Evan Gordon, the brother duo behind The Magic, whose 'Mr. Hollywood' adorns itself with the sort of sheen-tastic closet disco that would have even the most Eurosceptic franticly dialling. Of course, the Canadian siblings endeavour to create much more than just fodder for taste-free tune tournaments. Thus, Ragged Gold arrives as a rich and giddy, electro- tinged pop record – that is unabashed in ambition, but sometimes vote splitting in terms of execution.

'Lightning Strikes' sets the tone - a Phoenix-indebted excursion that predictably satisfies all the inoffensive FM clichés: groove-laden rhythms, a catchy cooing chorus and sunkissed synthery. But there's something amiss. Overly restrained and several BPMs too slow, it seems disappointingly unfulfilling. Although, The pure pop dose of 'Night School' puts this straight. Nabbing the more sugary elements of Metronomy's The English Riviera (i.e. the best bits), it hurtles along with a Bryan Ferry-ish delivery and shiver-inducing female backing. Unfortunately 'No Sound', once again, sees the siblings fall the wrong side of cheese, which is even more unsatisfactory when you consider that it initially threatens to be a Bradford Cox-like brainchild. "Never even noticed that you walked in the bar/Heads were a- turning like an engine in a car," rasps Geordie, with all the lyrical prowess of a toddler Sting. And it gets worse. Concluding with a sickening obliteration of The Cure's 'Close To Me' – all squelchy brass and ad-libbed falsetto that must surely be saved for parody.

But mercifully its memory doesn't linger thanks to the stabbing organs that stomp all over 'Fifth Business'. A souped up take on The Aliens' 'Setting Sun' - complete with a slutty guitar solo and super contagious refrain – it miraculously lifts the album from the pits of despair. Then 'Door to Door' sees them tread the same neo-soul as London's Othello Woolf – with a funky, slick ode to Hall & Oates that's quite excellent. Next, the aforementioned 'Mr. Hollywood' arrives to award your faith, it's beautiful moaning strings juxtaposed perfectly with CSS-ish synth work. Here, Geordie Gordon's broken and slack delivery is fully realised – especially in the exceptionally wonky chorus. And just in case anyone's still sitting on the fence, the Sylvie Smith-fronted 'Call Me Up' proves classy – revelling in the same sassy eloquence that made Chairlift's 'Bruises' their signature-hit.

Concluding on the skittering, night-cry 'Parasite Paradise' – which concludes a triumphant second half - 'Ragged Gold' departs leaving behind much promise after offering an eclectic and turbulent jaunt that ping-pongs through diverse reference points. And while at times it's inconsistent, there's nothing actually ragged here - the Canadian brothers already show-off super glossy studio skills and some real flashes of, uhum, magic. There, we said it.