Karl Mohr | Tools For The Analog Revolution

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Electronic: Industrial Electronic: Hard House Moods: Mood: Brooding
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Tools For The Analog Revolution

by Karl Mohr

Tools is an electro-rocker with lots of great beats and caustic synth programming. The lyrical themes tear headlong into environmental territory. The usual wide range of genres and moods from goth rock and electro to hard house and techno - with a strong
Genre: Electronic: Industrial
Release Date: 

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  song title
1. Time Will Not Remain
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2. Ghosts Watch Television
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3. Eating Green Solar Cars
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4. I Love You When It Rains
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5. Iron Mountain
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6. Atomic Power
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7. Girl With the Haunted Eyes
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8. These Fine Feathers (2004)
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9. Warmest of Water
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10. Catshit Sushi
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11. Analog Revolution Day One
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12. Eating Green Solar Voyage
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Album Notes
Almost three years in the making, Tools For The Analog Revolution represents the next phase of the Karl Mohr electronic music journey. Tools is an electro-rocker with lots of great beats and caustic synth programming. The lyrical themes tear headlong into environmental territory.

Almost three years in the making, Tools represents the next phase of the Karl Mohr electronic music journey. The usual wide range of genres and moods from goth rock and electro to hard house and techno - with a strong undercurrent of darkwave, and an amplified political message.

Strong on vocals and drama, this most polished of his releases is quite a heavy-duty ride. Electric guitars fight with dance tracks for electronic dominance. The final track is an extended mutant-house remix of Eating Green Solar Cars.

Fits nicely into these collections:


Product Details:

Compact Disc, burned & hand-assembled.
Colour printing in a jewel case.
1:01:00 duration. 12 songs.
Released March 1, 2004.

Review: KARL MOHR / Tools For The Analog Revolution / 2004 / independent

Canadian Darkwave dance artist Karl Mohr takes a louder Rock/Industrial rant against the mainstream with Tools for the Analog Revolution.

Mohr's vocal energy reminds me of (perhaps) a blend of influences such as Chris Connolly (PigFace, Damage Manual, et al), and Pat Ogle (illegalteenagebikini, Thanatos).

Tools for the Analog Revolution equates to eclectic Electro for the disgruntled masses.

Oddly enough, Mohr's website proclaims you can download the new album, "Free of Charge". No doubt, Mohr would appreciate feedback to help him evaluate how well the divergence (that this independently released album is taking from his previous releases via Interdimensional Industries) of Tools for the Analog Revolution consumes the general public.

My favourite track at the moment is "These Fine Feathers".

(Jett Black)

Source: sickamongthepure.com 2005


drums on time and atomic by tobias smith
additional vox on atomic by iliana dempsey-hewett,
saint benjamin, daniel hewett, lenni jabour, tania janthur,
debbie lis, astrid mohr, erik mohr, estelle mohr,
kristin mueller, tobias smith, booth stares, hawksley workman
ghostly wails on atomic by lenni jabour
haunting vox samples on girl by julia galios
soprano laments on warmest by kristin mueller

voyage credits (track 12)
trumpet by the mighty saint benjamin
soprano vox by kristin mueller
cantonese dialog by louise bak
polish dialog by debbie lis
georgian, russian, english dialog by marina
latvian, english dialog by mara ravins
drum samples by hawksley workman
siamese cat calls and purrs by hester, lily, ginny
needle drops from rock and roll robot courtesy of km
needle drops from wassernixe/froze like ice
courtesy of interdimensional industries

all tracks written/produced/(c) 2004 karl mohr (socan)
recorded in austria and canada


Tools For The Analog Revolution - Complete Lyrics
(c) 2004 Karl Mohr / Writer: Mohr
The complete set of lyrics, in CD order.


dreaming of beautiful weather, passion, fur
and flowers. love to stick together, fire and ice
forever, permanence in stone, a frozen mortal oath
honoured to the grave, nothing stays the same
ending as it starts, clever mental sparks
dusting off the chrome, leave the phone at home
living for the heart, leave the better parts
wear the better clothes, need a little dose now
grasping at the clasp, gaping at the mouth
tearing off the mask, exposing all the rats
better than the last, never gonna last
promises to share, declarations dare but
time begins to stain, promises remain
all the world for granted, life is disenchanted
screaming at the door, gouging wrists and throats
eyes of bloody metal, dust is never settled
smashing fists of rage, bottled blackened days
seething fumes of fear, rage has found an ear
walking on the glass, glass makes walking fast
fusion is a curse for blood is still immersed
time will not remain


they all gather around, home from a long
day haunting the grounds. they bear the day
but then the ghosts they want to watch television
with me, quite rightly. when the tube goes on,
watch them come. the ghosts, they want to
watch television with me. nothing pulls them
like the scent of electricity. when the tube
goes on, watch them come, fighting for
remote control, the channels turn to static
on me. they come from cracks and purgatory
up from basement lavatories
a flickering room full of snickering spirits
cold, hard comfort for the dead and dreary
thousands here, i spray the air
dead invisible, it smells like a crypt in here


eating green, solar cars, use your power to legalize
buying local and community, prevailing culture's gone
to mono. attitude to think on, buying from the land
warrant for the peace of the hard-working hand
eats off the vine, earth of his plot
sworn off the grid, pulled out the plug
she's dropped from the dopeline, headed for the treeline
they made their way to island and the system they abhor
their arms are feeling weary, their skin is sun and tan.
the sweat is all the product, what they carry in their hand
there is no more a government, there is no more a tax
there is no day off, babe, there is no slack. yeah
let them get the freedom and back in our community
they're all of human endeavour, they're workin' for the many
he digs in the compost and digs his own shit, for a soil rich
in ingredients. makes her garden, grows her very own food,
rooftop desperate thought of green, makes an urban dream
the weeds will grow up, through the cracks once again
all things genetic modified will never win. after every
fat economist is shreaded and stung, the perfect
nutrients for trees and the green ones
every fabrication need a recycling, otherwise the Earth
will never survive. a tree down for a dollar is a dollar
for a seedling. species from a planet is a ritual killing
buying local is the only thing, what kills our culture is the
labeling. buy from locals, do your own thing, grow your
own food and write your songs to sing. you're pullin' the plug
you pull out the plug. the saviour of the world is in
every one of us in a self-sustaining, analog backwoods


gnashing of teeth, digging of claws, monster among us
come to reclaim, swinging the axe, strikes the pain
still, simply said, and that¹s all I mean
i love you when it rains
over the worst, still comes in waves, back out you can't
wait for the end, enter the dragons, ready the flames
and the raindrops fall, and we record them all
and the grey sky keeps us near enough to the concrete pillars
this glass bus shelter and that old graffiti good enough for now


i was sent a sheet of paper - just a regular sheet of paper
they told me it was important data and I should go to the
iron mountain. in the halls of the iron mountain, i heard
the sounds of stacking and counting. all alone in the iron
mountain with my regular sheet of paper. i found my way
to the desk receiver, spoke in languages foreign and clever
i explained the best that i could then: i didn't understand
iron mountain. i was sent to the hall of paper - floor to
ceiling just regular paper. so many bodies, stacking and
counting deep in the heart of iron mountain. all of the
secrets of civilization, all of the everyday facts and
figures, all of the regular sheets of paper deep in the
heart of iron mountain. i came upon a janitor working
told me the way to happiness lasting. told me the future
of those who linger is a lifelong cleaning up paper. i
escaped to the daylight sun, looked around at the land
around. high to the clouds in every direction
thousands of rising iron mountains


we condemn atomic power; no more for us
voices joining every hour; we want clean power
generating volts from wind and the sun;
they are our friends. switching to enviro-power
so cold in the dead zone as elena rides her motorbike back home
not a sound in the ghost town as chernobyl waits 900 years or more
the little boy and the fat man find 200,000 victims on their hands
bad luck from prometheus; hiroshima, nagasaki never planned
"old reactors left here for your children" - don't want them!
"science bless our golden rods and cylinders" - don't make them!
radiation worldwide is mounting like a summit meeting cash
agreement. stop the earthly plight of cancer-causing light


she's a dream. incantations of old, you see
speak deeper to those, you see, who hear the voices in the
cold, you see, who hear voices in the girl with the haunted eyes


these fine feathers lost their wings. this old plumage looks neglected
these grand tail feathers fan. this wingspan found the ocean in the land
the game's not on cuz the players went home and the game won't go
if the players don't throw and this old room is growing smaller
years of listening, walls grow tired and sleep. the shadows can't grow
any longer now. their textures multiply and lovingly entwine
the clouds withdraw without a warning. sun shines through a tiny
window. only love on sunday morning. only truth on sunday afternoon
don't ever lose your wings


she at the chain link, dressed in the cheese cloth
she at the blood's edge, the warmest of water
she at the central microprocessor, she beckons
she at the limit of human resistance
lined in the lining of her black leather bodice
the phrase which calls one from the back of the cortex
the punishments ensue for the curious and lazy
the terrifying clutch of electrifying beauty
with a sinister walk countless bodies march on
the martial insistance of voyeur cacophony
we all walk to the cave with widening eyes
we all walk in our handcuffs and simmering boot drives
she at the supper of apparent submission
she at the blood's edge with everyone watching
she at the target of data retrieval
she on the precipice of an imaginary climax
they come in droves to the edge of the water
naked and made up and puffed up with creosote
pushing and grunting like forgotten cattle
dancing along in the warmest of water


eat up your nitrates, young one, visit the farms, oh brave little ones
clear out the forests, install the film crews, roll the evening news
and record interviews. pay all with union dues, feed everyone
catshit sushi. caught in reservoirs of human excrement. visit the
site where the evil one is alive tonight. go on, my brave ones, enter
the concrete barn to where the chickens are stapled to the floors and
clear out the forests, install the camera crews, roll the stock music
now and conduct those interviews. pay each with union dues, feed
everyone catshit sushi. caught in reservoirs, packaged at the factory
go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere to every
human ear that can hear. go tell it on the mountain that growing your
own food is the last frontier of freedom in a biological world. ship the
rest without inspecting and thank you for your cheap labour. thank you
for your human understanding as we grind your cows into gravel for
sawdust sandwiches and grind out the adverts, piss in your combo
load up monosodium glutamate and buzz you, tag you, shoot up your
coffee, make you feel wealthy, maybe even beautiful. clear out the
forests, install the film crews, roll the evening news, record
interviews. pay all with union dues, feed everyone catshit sushi
caught in reservoirs, flushed from your homes


you've got a desktop, you've got a laptop
you've got a handheld and you've got wireless
you've got software, you've got hardware
you've got shareware, pier to pier to pier
you've got access, you've got options
you've got power yet you feel powerless
feels so connected yet disconnected
chronic loner - you're suicidal
pick up the gun, load the slugs
point the barrel, pull the trigger
monitor smoking, hard drive frying
smoke is rising, modem writhing
and in the hay field, you build a bonfire
of all your hardware and all your software
and all your neighbours, they come and admire
and bring computers to feed the fire
analog revolution day one
if the machines do our work for us
the machines will be rewarded for their usefulness
and humans, by extension, will become less important
the machine slaves are not aware


see track 3. additional lyrics from the sampled
"rock and roll robot (unreleased vocal version)"
da baby, da!


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