Mon Rovîa’s «Act 4: Atonement» Is The Sound We Need Right Now
Mon Rovîa releases the final chapter of a musical journey. It is a warm embrace for the end.
It has been a while since the last big wave of indie-folk surged on the shores of collective consciousness. And, oh boy, did I dive in back then; I almost drowned in the sea of jangly guitars and half-baked stories. Anyone remember Mumford & Sons?
I‘m not gonna lie: After all this, I was saturated for a while.
But now, Mon Rovîa hails over the Appalachian hills with a new EP, Act 4: Atonement, ending his musical journey that started in 2023 with Act 1: Wandering and continued with Act 2: Trials and Act 3: The Dying of Self. Yes, it is a hero‘s journey and an exploration of himself.
In this context, it’s mildly required to explore the previous chapters again before diving into the latest work. And maybe I’m already too biased by the press release, but Act 1: Wandering indeed has a searching, even longing vibe. Act 2: Trials is very much still stripped-down, but some vigilant tones appear here and there, while Act 3: The Dying of Self expands into wider, more complex arrangements we will encounter in Act 4: Atonement again.
However, these nuances remain subtle. All the acts sound alike—with the ukulele and banjo as a sonic red thread. Maybe too similar, and I can‘t shake the feeling that Mon Rovîa‘s themes could have benefitted from more distinct profiles.
On the other hand, the Acts of Mon Rovîa focus more on the lyrics and themes rather than folk music‘s different facets. From loneliness and a desire for belonging to acceptance, resilience, loss, and love. Mon Rovîa undertakes a deep, almost surgical introspection, and the vulnerability coming with displaying one‘s soul is deeply impressive.
Andrew Lowe, aka Mon Rovîa, was born into conflict and later saved from the horrors of civil war in Liberia.
In 2019, Lowe stated in an interview: «I was born in Liberia, West Africa, and adopted and then taken to the States. I do not really have a hometown, I moved a lot growing up and so never really grew up anywhere. I started doing Mon Rovîa last year, and it’s been a steady journey. I couldn’t be doing any of this, though, if it weren’t for my faith in God and two of my closest friends who believe in me.»
In the face of this experience, his themes hit even harder. And most astonishingly, he never lashes out, never accuses but meets apathy and violence with gentle grace and empathy.
Best saved for last
Listening to all acts back to back, I conclude: Mon Rovîa saved the best for last. Act 4: Atonement assembles six songs, each utterly beautiful. In the final chapter, Rovîa reconciles, concludes, and distils lessons. Somewhere in the tearing tension between guilt and salvation, the songs uncover the power of forgiveness. It is, by all means, an empowering EP and a manual of how to settle your inner conflicts. And you better read it!
The compositions are also bigger than before but still maintain intimacy, like a warm and long embrace. Crooked the road quickly transforms from a simple folk song, driven by the ukulele and guitar, to a grander piece. Similar to Guilt; a killer. with its poignant slide guitar, deeply inspired by Appalachian folk tradition.
But it has to be They‘re Not There. where Mon Rovîa excels in sending a hopeful, encouraging message for all those struggling with their inner demons—accompanied by a simple but so touching composition.
Don‘t be scared
They‘re not there
It‘s in your head
This monster‘s lair
In Dead Man Walking., Rovîa gets even stomping with the usually sparsely utilised percussion. And towards the end, the climatic drone propels the song to an eery towering size.
Winter Wash 24 takes it down a notch yet still expands into a longing, nostalgic vastness. Here, Mon Rovîa’s voice sounds like an understanding smile, warm and smoothly caressing the soul and combatting apathy. He explains: «It’s about the elephant in the room—the cognitive dissonance we feel in the West; witnessing the horrors on our phones, stuck feeling helpless in any of our efforts. So apathy grows.»
Rust, the EP’s final song, is a sonic surprise. The signature ukulele and banjo sound is gone, replaced by a highlighted guitar, and a soothing piano lingers in the background, accompanied by rather conventional drums and, at some point, even strings. It almost feels strange, misplaced in Mon Rovîa’s universe. Only the same warmth and optimism connect Rust to the preceding songs.
Nevertheless, it’s an undeniably beautiful tune, and it also demonstrates that musically, a greater variety would have done the full arch of acts an excellent service. It’s a nitpicking-sized complaint.
The sound we need right now
With its overarching message of empathy, salvation, forgiveness and reconciliation, Act 4: Atonement delivers the sound, strength, and hopefulness we need going into 2025—a year that bears conflict and uncertainty. And even if you’re just left with a feeling of being heard, it was already worth it.
Mon Rovîa’s Act 4: Atonement is for anyone who seeks comfort. For anyone who wants to meet anger and aggression with grace and vulnerability. It’s for people who believe love will ultimately overwhelm hate.
Mon Rovîa – Act 4: Atonement
Release: 10/01/2025
- crooked the road
- Guilt; a killer.
- They're Not There.
- Dead Man Walking.
- Winter Wash 24
- Rust
