Review: Kathryn Mohr ‘Waiting Room’
When I’m not engaging in copious amounts of shouty screamy music or finding myself on the receiving end of large pools of doom, I can usually be found calming myself to something far more ambient, usually something shoegazey or a form of moody introspective eclecticism will be spilling forth from my speakers.
The extremes of music in my catalogue range from the likes of early Cradle Of Filth, Entombed and Carcass, to Mazzy Star, Emma Ruth Rundle or the cello magnificence of Jo Quail. With each new review I write, when I’m initially doing the listening part of the journey, I have no preconceived idea of what to expect, I go in somewhat blind, and hope that the experience is a joyful one, or at the very least a learning curve.
With the latest Kathryn Mohr album, Waiting Room, I approached with caution, after all, not knowing the artist, and only basing my opinions on a written overview of what’s contained within, any preconceived ideas wouldn’t really have done any justice at all to what I found.
On first listen, it’s hard to fully comprehend the subtlety of the work, to the untrained ear it has an air of underplayed guitar driven angst, coupled with a darkly vulnerable vocal performance, which will leave you wondering if there should be something more, or if you missed the point.
Yes, it has a very DIY feel to it, like a single take recording, where whatever comes out as a result was just meant to be. I am the same when I paint, I don’t waste time trying to tidy up, I much prefer laying down the layers and stepping away to see the chaos that’s ensued. I get the same feeling when I listen to this album.
It isn’t an overproduced, polished affair, quite the opposite in fact. Close your eyes in a quiet room and it actually feels like Kathryn is right there, playing to you. More an artistic statement than a musical lullaby, this album runs a very thin line between eclecticism and introverted exuberance, and it’s only after several plays through that it finally falls into place.
Trying to point to any similar artists as a point of reference is quite the challenge, for me, there are hints of Johanna Warren and Midwife, but also Emma Ruth Rundle, but not so much in sound, more in spirit and texture. And over the course of the eleven tracks, what unfolds is an incredibly personal body of work, understated and yet full of whimsy, albeit in an awkward disjointed way.
this where Kathryn’s skills shine, making the most simplistic sounds seem dense…
Throughout we are treated to all manner of sounds, from sharp nerve shredding passages of awkward piano to large ambient soundscapes of darkness. It does have a tendency to wander away with itself at times, but that only adds to the suspense and the opportunity to build your own narrative to any given piece.
Starting with the album opener, Diver, the scene is set, and even though it takes a bit of getting used to, as it plays through it’s what doesn’t happen that actually builds on the feelings of futility. It’s slow, dark acoustic guitar provides the perfect background for the soft dreamy vocal, and with the inclusion of the ambient noise draped across the soundscape, it makes for an awkward underdressed affair.
Rated furthers the feeling of discomfort, and with its muffled monologued vocal, it’s hard to get a grip on what’s going on. It’s times like this where Kathryn’s skills shine, making the most simplistic sounds seem dense, where it should be light and airy, the result is an upsetting pain instead.
This feeling continues across track three, Driven, and by the time we get to Petrified, what we need is something less imposing. Thankfully we are facilitated in our cause, and here things break from their path, and a slightly less imposing outpouring unfolds.
It doesn’t last long though; it’s just over four minutes before the darkness returns in the form of Take It. An uncomfortable listen, the intensity is again ramped right up, and an awkward listen ensues. It’s these moments when those Emma Ruth Rundle comparisons creep in, and like I said previously, it’s more in spirit than in sound. Stripped back, raw, and guttural, they feel like single take recordings when they appear, all very DIY in nature.
This is mostly the way that the rest of the album plays out, although there are still further surprises to be had. Track six, Elevator and track ten, Wheel, have me drawing a parallel in style to Juliana Hatfield, and there’s even a trace of Courtney Love going on too. Maybe it’s that antagonistic volatile swagger in the vocal, but when they show up, it lifts the spirit further.
By the time the closing and title track, Waiting Room, has played through, all that’s left is to sit back, recompose oneself, and try and comprehend just what’s been witnessed. This is where the struggle begins, is this a work of restrained genius, or the outpouring of someone’s internal struggle? It’s only upon further listens where it becomes evident, but until you discover it for yourself, you will always be left wondering.
Label: The Flenser
Band Links: Facebook | Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram
Scribed by: Lee Beamish
