What does Kathryn Mohr sound like?

Angst-ridden rock, intimately grinding your ears.

The review of ‘Carve’ by Kathryn Mohr

When I first stumbled across Kathryn Mohr’s music, I was immediately struck by her unusual production. Perhaps inspired by the dry Mojave Desert in which Kathryn recorded the album, absolutely every sound is pulled up close to the ear. From the distorted guitars to Mohr’s voice to the strange, chaotic noise moments that punctuate the record, it’s a visceral album that replaces immediate complexity with raw diamond cuts. Carved into those cuts are painful memories that Kathryn’s emotions reside inside, and that’s what forms the album. It’s a rollercoaster.

Opening the album is the disorientating ‘Bone Infection’. A mixture of radio frequencies and odd noises clatter and spiral like a harsh desert wind. Its atonal approach makes it a difficult opener, but it sets the mood for the dark apathy and disconnected private horrors to follow. ‘Doorway’ sets off the album’s melodic intent with its lo-fi, distorted approach to production. Catchy riffs, crisp and raspy guitar sizzles, and distant, cold vocal deliveries mark the track as an immediate hit. There is something very PJ Harvey 4-Track Demos about its production, but with more of a Chelsea Wolfe disembodied emotional soul core to it. That may sound a bit reductive to describe Kathryn Mohr’s sound that way, but when the album is built around minimal instruments, a lot of lo-fi recording tech, and a single lady carries it all off, it’s hard not to pitch it into that circle of praise.

Where Kathryn Mohr differs is that each track has a different sizzle on the guitar. ‘Angle of Repose’ goes for a razor-grunge approach. That grunge feeling translates to the sloppy whine of the vocals. The lyrics also include a personal favourite: “chicken strip club, mechanically loved”. The lyrics are stunning across the album, but that one really evokes a chorinated hell. Kathryn then embraces jangly, psychedelic Americana with ‘Commit’. For the first time, the guitar is allowed some reverb, and when paired with strange room noises and distant screams-turned-mellotron-flutes, it creates an experimental folk world that you could bathe in. That leads into the gloomy, doomgaze of ‘Property’. Once again, the guitar shapeshifts into a wall of fuzz. Kathryn’s voice is layered over several octaves, creating a witches’ cauldron of incantation. “With every second I waste searching for feeling”, sings Mohr. The weight of every guitar chug drags the listener down the river with her; it’s sludge rock perfection.

You’ll notice I’ve not mentioned a single bassline or drum. There are none. This album is guitar, voice, a field recorder, and a lot of distortion effects. It is a testament to Mohr’s songwriting and production that she can fill the space so well. Tracks like ‘I Do’ flow like a rampant rock anthem. They are full of energy and showcase one of the few times Mohr layers her own guitar work to create a bridge guitar solo of sorts. She doesn’t need anything else; Kathryn is enough. It also represents the isolation and disconnection she felt from the world when writing the album. Even when it’s just an in-room recording of acoustic guitar, voice, and a creaky door with “Idiocy”, the loneliness and quiet desperation and resignation seep through. There’s also a fantastic refrain that hit me deeply and sounds exactly like how I felt immediately after my father’s passing. “Turn my face inside my head. A dying heart goes back to bed. A piece of memory in the dust. Like pouring diesel in a gas tank.” Poetry.

“It’s my body, your choice” drifts in eerily in ‘Owner’. This track showcases Mohr at her most creepy and psychedelic. Her dissonant, ethereal voice floats over b-movie guitar twinkles and ambient tape rustlings. It’s like the track is damaged by dust and rust, but the siren calling you home cannot be sated until you submit. The lyrics are just ambiguous enough to wonder if it’s about humanity’s demise, the food pyramid, or something far more intimate and personal. It could be all of the above and much more. It quickly snaps into the chugging rock of ‘Cells’. Here, Mohr’s knack for uneven riffs and higher register choruses creates another dark and sludgy hit.

The field recordings take centre stage for ‘Chromium 6’. It sounds like Kathryn’s left her field recorder out in the desert next to a metallic sign that keeps boinging. Animal sounds, random computer bleeps, a harsh wind, and strange cavernous booms and rustles paint a scene of desolation. Far harsher is ‘Crow Eyes’ that closes the album as a three-minute atmospheric tear that rips at your psyche and soul. Sandwiched between the tracks is ‘Trouble Me’, the most tender track on the album. Gentle acoustic guitar, and with the least amount of production tricks, it’s the catharsis at the end of a long, dark tunnel. As hearts and minds thaw, the lyrics offer the idea that grief and love will always be interconnected. It’s the grief that makes you appreciate the love you have.

‘Carve’ is a phenomenal album. Gritty, rustic, and full of lyrics that evoke all kinds of imagery, Kathryn Mohr’s second album deserves to place her into the top tier of experimental rock. The album is full of earworms, and its unconventional production and instrumentation only add to its appeal. If you stripped those away, the songs would still stand tall on their own. Time to hit repeat.

Recommended track: Doorway

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