On his debut album Bloodline, Mon Rovîa explores his complex past with striking clarity. Born in Liberia during the civil war, Janjay Lowe was adopted by a white American family and grew up moving across the U.S., eventually settling in Tennessee. As a teenager, he found inspiration in artists like Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver, but noticing a lack of Black representation in that genre, Lowe shifted to R&B. Thanks to TikTok, he gained a following and began merging those indie-folk influences back into his music. With the ukulele he played as a child in tow, he reconnects with his roots in Afro-Appalachian music.
NPR’s recent article on modern protest singers featured Mon Rovîa alongside other notable artists like Jesse Welles and Jensen McRae. His sound blends both Welles’s sharp commentary and McRae’s introspective style. Yet, while his soothing melodies are inviting, Lowe’s lyrics often tackle painful memories. For instance, in “Day at the Soccer Fields,” he recounts a traumatic moment from his childhood, contrasting the beauty of the music with harrowing memories: “I remember it/Like it was yesterday/AK-40 pointed at my face.” Similarly, “Running Boy” addresses police encounters, adding layers of survivor’s guilt to a catchy tune.
Lowe’s struggle with identity is profound. His stage name, Mon Rovîa, nods to Liberia’s capital, named after President James Monroe, who supported the colonization of free Black Americans to Liberia. On “Whose Face Am I,” he faces the emotional turbulence of being adopted and never knowing his birth parents, reflecting on unfulfilled longings: “Yearning in my soul, for a name I’ll never know.”
In songs like “Somewhere Down in Georgia,” he places his personal experience against the backdrop of Black trauma in the South: “Cotton fields turned parking lots/Steel and stone can’t hide these stains.” Even when the music shifts towards hope, Lowe doesn’t offer easy answers.
While Bloodline has its standout moments, some tracks veer into familiar territory. “Oh Wide World” strays into more generic imagery about overcoming fear. And in “Heavy Foot,” tackling global issues like the prison industrial complex can feel like a stretch within the song’s upbeat chorus.
One powerful track, “Pray the Devil Back to Hell,” relates to a documentary about Liberian women who brokered peace in 2003, ending the civil war. This story resonates with Lowe’s mission: confronting violence with peace.
Lowe’s journey is a reminder that music can be a compelling vehicle for exploring identity and healing. His blend of genres and experiences offers a rich tapestry that speaks to both personal and collective struggles.
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