Brandi Burkhardt knows a thing or two about making an entrance. She’s been commanding attention for years—whether it was stealing scenes on Hart of Dixie, belting out power ballads on Broadway, or working with some of the biggest names in music behind the scenes. But Magic, her latest pop release, feels like more than just another project. It feels like the moment she stops playing other people’s roles—and finally steps into her own.
Magic is pure energy from the second it starts. A sleek, polished dance track with that addictive, late-night pulse that practically dares you to lose your inhibitions. You hear it, and your body knows this song belongs in a dark club under neon lights, with a stranger’s body grinding against yours and his hand sliding lower and lower past your waist, the whole room thick with possibility.
Brandi’s voice glides over retro-leaning synths with a confidence that doesn’t need to shout. There’s something cool about the way she delivers the lines like she’s inviting you in—but she’s still in control. You, me and a bottle of wine, I really wanna have a good time… It’s flirty, yeah—but there’s a bite to it. She’s not asking permission. She’s telling him where this is headed, and he’s already following.
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That’s what makes Magic hit. It plays with you—soft at first, then bold enough to make you part your thighs in anticipation.
The lyrics toe the that intricate line between playful and provocative. Are you open? Are you open? she teases, and it’s clear she’s not just asking about plans for the night. It’s an invitation to temptation and maybe to something a little reckless. But it never feels forced. There’s an ease to it, the kind of chemistry that sneaks up on you and leaves you wondering how the night got away from you.
Brandi’s no stranger to telling stories through music. She’s spent years recording for some of the most iconic songwriters in the game—Leslie Bricusse, Don Black, Barry Mann & Cynthia Weil—and collaborating with legends like John Legend himself. And when you listen to Magic, you hear that experience. There’s structure, sure—but it never feels safe. The whole track’s tight enough to tease him, loose enough to let it all unravel.
The chorus sounds like two people who’ve already crossed the line playfully taunting each other, and neither of them plans to stop. “Here we are and we’re at it again… Do you believe in magic?” It’s a clever little hook that doubles as a question and a warning. The kind of line you might say right before you make a decision that keeps you out until sunrise.
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What’s refreshing is that Brandi never overplays it. Magic isn’t trying to reinvent pop, but it does remind you why we fall for this kind of track over and over—the tension, the pulse, the possibility. If you’re a fan of Dua Lipa’s sleek, after-dark anthems, Robyn’s bittersweet dancefloor moments, or Tove Lo’s unapologetic, messy sex appeal, this fits right into that space. But Brandi brings her own edge to it—years of performing, writing, and, honestly, just living. You can hear it in her voice, and it doesn’t need to prove a thing.
By the time she’s repeating, Give me your love, babe, give me your love…, it’s less of a request and more of a command. He’s already in. He’s been in since the first note. The only thing left is to decide how far she’s willing to take it.
For Brandi, this song is a power move—the kind that leaves him wanting and wondering how he got caught up so fast. It’s a woman’s superpower. He thinks it’s magic.
