Influenced by Australia’s long-understated punk history, Melbourne’s CIVIC have so far branded themselves on the reckless abandon of punk rock – well, they would’ve, but branding is for losers. The group’s third album grooves past archetype, striving for unrestrictive dynamics, sludging noise, and mesmeric, spoon-bending heft, whilst retaining the wildness of mother punk.
Chrome Dipped simply sounds big. Emphasis has been provided by its producer, Kirin J. Callinan, one of Australia’s great modern-day men. Crutched for bigness and liberation at the Museum of Old and New Art in Tasmania, the album confirms Kirin as a good/bad influence where letting go and letting one’s body flail is concerned.
The result is as freeing as CIVIC’s intent. Chrome Dipped sounds like a recording session formed from intuition and reflex. Natural growth is assembled from the band’s disapproval of expectancy, admitting to not knowing what was about to happen pre-writing. Each member has been able to contribute to the change, and Chrome Dipped is describable as an album made good by great, eager musicians.
Immediate, conquering noise with an organic feel initiates proceedings on The Fool. An electric-acoustic guitar harmony clinks like the swing of an anchor, whilst Roland Hlavka’s bassy mud forces through, contributing to the calamity, creating its own. His bass is a storm within a storm.
Eli Sthapit, making his album debut as CIVIC’s drummer, rules the title track’s arrangement with his snare-bashing, itself a journey from the rudimentary backbeats of punk. His drumming is as unbound as the song’s route-taking; stop-start, quiet-loud, as much a disconsolate slow-burn as it is an acute venting of frustration.
Guitar-oriented, the album was sure to see guitarist Lewis Hodgson pick up a few MVP awards. He celebrates the album’s enhanced sound on Poison with a solo many older rockers would be proud of. He fiddles with numerous tones on The Hogg, some distortedly rudimentary, others eager to steal the modern post-punk spotlight with their nasal squeak. All amalgamates in a vow to be louder, bulkier and weightier than the literal machines the song rages against.
Hodgson also contributes by pinching lead vocal duties from Jim McCullough on Kingdom Come, a rare cling to balladry that documents addiction. Other grief-stricken compositions (Gulls Way / Amissus) retain some infernality; an unhinged, creative shellshock.
McCullough’s booming voice adapts to a greater clamour for liberation, literally depicted on Starting All the Dogs Off, and the no-fucks-given philosophy of Swing of the Noose.
In its boundlessness, Chrome Dipped changes what it means to be CIVIC. In its progression, the album harnesses a repurposed vigour that turns punk rock inwards and outwards. Metamorphosis professes Albini-isms, and all of the above conspires to flaunt for those who favour enhancement, who swoon for second forms.
