Afro-Appalachian? Soulgrass? It’s all just joyous acoustic music sans frontières from Mon Rovîa , and just the job to nip the winter chill.

UNFAMILIAR

I was unfamiliar with the genre of Afro-Appalachian ahead of hearing this record, a debut from this cross-genre hopping one-time Liberian, a resident now of Chattanooga, in Tennessee. I suspect he is the sole proponent, mind, but it is a heady mix, swirling the melodies and textures of West Africa with the high lonesome sounds of hillbilly America. That may sound quite ungainly, but it is more uncanny, and down to more than shared existences on the edge. I didn’t know a whole lot about the history of Liberia, but, without being one of those insisting on context always before enjoyment, well, not that much, I commend at least a quick wiki of the country. Let’s just say it gives colonisation and cultural appropriation a fair old head tumble.

Add then the fact that onetime Janjay Lowe was adopted into the family of an American Pastor, spending then his life criss-crossing the US and the wider world, wheresoever his adoptive father’s evangelism took the family. Early displacement alongside moments of extraordinary discovery, and cultural disorientation balanced with a growing sense of belonging isn’t the half of it. For East Tennessee was where his own sense of home made itself strongest. There have been earlier releases, but this, his first full length recording, tells the tale of his extraordinary journey, which has seen him grace the stages of both the Grand Ol’ Opry and the Newport Folk Festival, let alone a sell out headline tour of his adopted country.

A COOL AND MULTI-FACETED SHADE OF MELLOW

Yes, yes, but what does it sound like? And the answer is a cool and multi-faceted shade of mellow. Instrumentation is primarily acoustic, with guitar, banjo and mandolin to the fore, with ukulele the singer’s main vehicle. His voice is gentle and pure, pitched toward the higher end, with a timbre that will have you scratching your head until a penny, maybe more, drops. Written in cahoots with producer, Cooper Holzman, washes of strings and piano add ethereal textures, into which choirs are tastefully dropped. as in you can take the boy out of the chapel, etc, but never do they become over-egged or intrusive. 16 tracks over 43 minutes makes for short and concentrated songs, often little more than vignettes, as they follow his journey, heedless of any stylistic expectations already offered, but that brevity becomes a gift.

SIMMERS AND SHIMMERING

The opening quartet of songs, from Black Cauldron to Running Boy derive from his early life in Liberia. Black Cauldron simmers, the light vocal shimmering over a backdrop of strings, as mandolin, ukulele and acoustic bass lay down a collage of textures. “Some things, they can take you right back“, he sings, before referencing the bible and a brandished rifle as the first of those. The arrangement imparts a soft glow, but whether this is from the low afternoon sun or from burning buildings, well that’s down to you.

Heavy Foot is then an another dextrous deception, pairing a joyous sounding anthem of hope with lyrics of a darker charm. As it breaks into an amalgam of choral chant and bluegrass stomper, it imprints deep. As does Oh Wide World, which of all people, carries a flavour of early Cat Stevens in voice and construction, if with marimba, ahead of breaking into a Graceland-esque finale. Running Boy is just glorious, with the spectre again of Paul Simon creeping through the notes, with strings to die for.

CULTURAL COLLISION

Whose Face Am I addresses the cultural collision encountered by that Running Boy, now on his way to America, if prefaced by an echo of captured spoken word, in African English. I don’t want to use the term soulgrass, for this musical amalgam, but find it hard not to. Pray The Devil Back To Hell exemplifies the join, together with the gospel such a tremendous title invites.

The speed of transit and integration waits for no-one, with Day At The Soccer Fields a useful metaphor, with which to usher in the tremendous Bloodline, the song that gave the name to the whole set. Starting with a snippet of found sound from a church service, lyrical piano ripples beneath his calming tones, his search for identity in song. As background voices join there is a distinct hit of Bon Iver in how it all sounds and comes together. Early Bon Iver, that is, isolated in his country cabin, long before discovering all the electrickery he now seems to prefer

PLAYING WITH PRECONCEPTIONS

A Foreshadowing uses piano to run further with that mood, an elegantly restrained concoction that plays with preconceptions, in a way similar to Michael Kiwanuka’s quieter moments. Knowing just how much choir to add and when is another talent shared. More moody soliloquys to experience follow, with Little By Little and Old Fort Steel Trail, the orchestrated acoustica the perfect medium for bring the best out of even the slighter songs. The banjo on the latter is exquisite, a congruent contrast with the steady and insistent drumbeat.

I don’t know why, but Field Song shouts chaingang at me, a bluesy rhyme, with rhythm at its heart. But it is a song of joy rather than oppression, with mandolins and dobro dipping between the claps and footstomps. Somewhere Down In Georgia is then a rolling guitar picked bucolic, Paul Simon again, with a leavening dash of Labi Siffre, a transcendent song that swaps meter midway, for a triumphant mid-section, ahead slipping back into a canter, “before the bad man comes“. But the high point of this action comes next, for the bittersweetly brief Code Of Many Colors, with extra markers for whoever’s side that title came from. Mandolins shimmer in an “evermore” lustre, with Lowe’s voice locked into a melodic moan mode. Play it twice, why don’cha, if only to soak in the lustrous backing vocals.

A TREMENDOUS FINALE

Infinite Pines is the last song as such, as the actual last track is part spoken word epilogue. What sounds like kora probably isn’t, but the plucked strings of whatever it is mingle well with a slow repeating piano motif, and some gloriously bendy stand up bass. It is a tremendous finale, making the aforesaid narrative piece, Where The Mountain Meets The Sea, however important to the story, somewhat superfluous. Me, I’d skip that last minute or so, at least once the speaking starts, but I can see why it was felt to be integral, and, despite my sniping, it doesn’t really spoil anything, as this is still a confident and competent piece of work, that should widen his audience considerably.

Where to start? Try Old Fort Steel Trail:

Mon Rovîa: Website

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