Okay, so let's unpack this right from the start.
I want you to do a little mental exercise with
me. Just, you know, close your eyes, unless you're
driving, obviously, and picture two very specific,
very different places. All right, I'm playing
along. Okay, first, visualize the coast of West
Africa. Like, really picture it. The humidity,
the heat, the sheer rhythm of the Atlantic Ocean
hitting the Liberian shore. It's tropical, it's
vibrant, it's just loud. Got it. Yeah. I'm there.
I can see it. Okay, now, hard cut. Complete shift.
I want you to picture the mist rolling off the
Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. Wow, okay.
That's a pivot. Right. Picture the scent of pine
needles, the damp earth, that deep ancient quiet
of the American South, and maybe, I don't know,
a banjo picking somewhere way off in the distance.
You're talking about two completely different
worlds? I mean, they're almost alien to each
other in terms of climate and culture. Exactly.
I mean, on a map, they are thousands of miles
apart. But here is where this gets really interesting
for our deep dive today. What if I told you that
in the music of one specific person, those two
worlds don't just meet, they actually collide.
They bleed into each other. Yes, they bleed into
each other to create something that sounds like
an absolute contradiction in terms, at least
until you actually hear it. We are talking about
a genre label that is starting to pop up literally
everywhere right now. Afro -Appalachian. It's
such a fascinating descriptor, honestly. It stops
you in your tracks because it forces you to reconcile
two identities that history, and frankly, the
music industry as a whole, usually keeps strictly
separated. It totally disrupts the categories.
And the architect of this specific sound is a
guy named Jan J. Lowe, but the world knows him
professionally as Monrovia. And look, if you've
been paying attention to the charts or just the
algorithms the last couple of years, you definitely
know the name. Oh, absolutely. He's unavoidable
right now in the best way. But if you haven't,
you are in for a serious trait because this story
is, honestly, it's wild. It's a movie script.
It is the story of geography, absolutely. But
it's also a story about trauma, about the modern
musical landscape, and about how borders, both
physical borders and genre borders, are becoming
increasingly fluid. We aren't just talking about
a musician here. We're talking about a cultural
synthesizer. And the timing for this deep dive
couldn't be better. I mean, it is February 2026.
Monrovia has just dropped this massive new body
of work called Bloodline. Which is doing incredible
numbers. Crazy numbers. His single, Heavy Foot,
is sitting at number 25 on the AAA charts right
now, the adult album alternative charts. So he
is arguably one of the most important voices
in folk music at this exact moment. Which is
significant in and of itself. Just think about
that. That a refugee from Liberia is defining
the sound of American folk in 2026. Right. So
here is our mission for today's deep dive. We
are going to unpack exactly how this happened.
How does a kid from Liberia end up becoming the
voice of Appalachia? We're going to look at his
origin story, which, like I said, is cinematic.
And we're going to break down this incredible
four part musical structure he built called The
Hero's Journey. Because he didn't just release
albums. He released a saga. A literal saga. And
we are going to look at the philosophy behind
it all. We have his tour manifests. We've looked
at the messaging from his merchandise, specifically
this recurring idea of, quote, heal with others.
And we have the biographical records. Yeah. So
this isn't just a music review. This is a look
at healing. We're looking at how you process
profound displacement. Yeah. Through a guitar
and a microphone. Exactly. But before we get
to the biography, I want to just stick on that
label for a second. Yeah. Afro Appalachian. It
sounds cool. Sure. It looks great on. playlist
cover. But is it just marketing fluff? Like,
is it just two cool words smashed together to
sell a brand? That is the million dollar question,
isn't it? Yeah. And frankly, if you know your
history, it isn't a marketing gimmick at all.
It's actually a reunion. A reunion. Can't blame
that. Well, we tend to think of Appalachian folk
as this purely white Scots -Irish tradition.
You know, fiddles in the mountains, that high
lonesome sound. But think about the central instrument
of that genre. The banjo. Right, the banjo, twangy,
round, very classically American. Well, no, that's
the thing. It's not originally American. It's
West African. Really? Instruments like the akanting,
the angoni, these are the direct ancestors of
the modern banjo. Enslaved people brought that
technology, that structural design, and those
specific rhythms across the Atlantic to the American
South. So for centuries, Appalachian music actually
was Afro -Appalachian. It was fundamentally a
blend. Wow. OK, so it was always a fusion. Exactly.
It was only in the early 20th century when the
recording industry came along that they started
separating things for marketing. They created
hillbilly records for white audiences and race
records for black audiences. And we culturally
segregated the sound. We literally drew a line
down the middle of a shared culture. So when
Monrovia steps up to a microphone and calls his
music Afro -Appalachian, he isn't inventing a
fusion at all. He's reclaiming a lineage that
was already there. That's exactly it. He's picking
up a thread. But, and here is the nuance we really
need to get right, he is doing it through a very
modern lens. He isn't playing... traditional
old time spirituals in a museum exhibit. He is
taking that ancestral connection and filtering
it through the experience of a modern refugee
and adoptee and a kid who was raised on the Internet.
Right. It's not a historical reenactment. No,
it's a restoration of the genre, but it's also
a mutation of it. It's like he picked up that
thread that was dropped in, what, 1920 and just
tied it directly to a trap beat from 2020. A
perfect analogy. And that creates this incredible
tension in the music. You hear the banjo, which
feels ancient and grounded and earthy. But then
you hear these production choices that feel very
modern, very digital. It's the sound of being
in two places at once. Which, honestly, is the
story of his life. Let's jump into the time machine
here. We have to go back to the beginning. Let's
start with the name itself, Monrovia. It's a
literal anchor. Right, because his birth name
is Jan J. Lowe, but he chooses the stage name
Monrovia. And for those who might have skipped
geography class, Monrovia is the capital city
of Liberia. Yes. And think about the deep psychology
of that choice. He was born in Monrovia, Liberia,
but he was adopted at age seven by an American
family. So he leaves his place of birth as a
very young child. Seven is so young. But old
enough to remember. Exactly. You have memories.
So by taking the name of the city as his professional
identity, he is making a very specific, very
loud statement. He's saying, no matter where
I go, no matter how American my folk music sounds,
this is where I begin. This is the root. It's
a way of honoring roots that were physically
left behind. It's almost like he's carrying the
map in his name. He is the place. And speaking
of maps, the journey this kid took after being
adopted is exhausting just to read about. Oh,
it is a dizzying trajectory. So he gets adopted
at seven. And the family doesn't just settle
in one spot and stay put. They live in Florida.
Then they go to Montana. Then the Bahamas. And
finally, they land in Tennessee. Just pause on
that list for a second. Let that sink in. Florida,
Montana, the Bahamas. It's whiplash. It really
is. You have the humidity of Florida. You have
the big sky country and the freezing winters
of the Mountain West. You have tropical islands.
And then you have the deep south. It's like a
randomized travel itinerary. And sociologically,
it creates what we often call a third culture
experience. When a child moves between such vastly
different environments during their really formative
years, they often don't feel fully, quote unquote,
of any single one of them. Because they haven't
been anywhere long enough to put down deep roots.
Right. So what happens? They become incredibly
adaptable. They learn to synthesize their surroundings.
Right. And I think if you look at his music later
on, that ability to blend genres effortlessly,
to not feel restricted by the idea of this is
what country music is or this is what African
music is, that comes directly from that youth
in transit. You have to imagine being 10 years
old, moving from the snow of Montana to the beaches
of the Bahamas. Your brain has to be constantly
rewiring itself just to understand where you
fit in, what the social cues are. Precisely.
You become an observer by necessity. You learn
to watch people, to mimic, to adapt to whatever
the local frequency is. And that is the fundamental
skill set of a storyteller. That's the skill
set of a songwriter. You're always sort of on
the outside looking in. And the final stop on
that transit, the place where the family finally
lands, was Chattanooga, Tennessee. And according
to the biographical records we have, this is
the pivot point. This is where the Appalachian
part of Afro -Appalachian starts to take root.
Chattanooga is a city with a very deep, rich
musical history. It's right there in the foothills.
And this is where he was first really exposed
to folk music. It wasn't something he brought
with him from Liberia in his suitcase. It was
something he found in the mountains of Tennessee.
And he starts learning instruments, right? He
picks up the ukulele. He picks up the guitar.
He's becoming a musician. But, and here is the
curveball that I think really surprises people
when they dig into his discography. He didn't
start as a folk singer. At all. No, not even
close. If we look at the archives, if we go way
back to the SoundCloud era around 2017, he's
uploading his first tracks. And then a few years
later in 2021, he drops his actual debut album,
Dark Continent. And if you listen to it, it sounds
absolutely nothing like the stuff he's playing
at the Grand Ole Opry today. No, Dark Continent
is fascinating because it is a snapshot of an
artist desperately trying to find his voice.
It wasn't folk. It was this raw blend of hip
-hop, trap, and R &B. Trap music. From the guy
who is now the total darling of the acoustic
folk scene. It's a leap. But that sonic history
is so important to understand him. It adds all
this texture. When you listen to his modern folk
tracks, they have a rhythmic complexity that
owes a massive debt to that trap background.
Just think about trap beats for a second. They
rely heavily on sharp hi -hats, on rapid triplets,
on deep rolling sub -bass. Right, that rattling
hi -hat sound, like tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
It's very fast, very nervous energy almost. Exactly.
Now, take that sound in your head and compare
it to a traditional banjo roll. Oh, wow. Right.
It's also incredibly rapid. It's highly percussive.
It's rhythmic and cyclical. So when he eventually
pivoted to folk, he brought that trap here with
him. He plays the ukulele and the acoustic guitar
with a sense of rhythm that feels way more like
a hip hop beat maker than a traditional campfire
strummer. It's percussive. It's driving. It pushes
the song forward. That makes so much sense. So
he's experimenting in 2021. He's trying on these
different hats. He's doing the hip hop thing.
And then 2022 hits and something just shifts.
The tectonic plates move. 2022 is the absolute
pivot point. The style shifts noticeably and
definitively toward folk. You have tracks released
in that window, like Vulture Culture, Where the
Rivers Run, and Borderline. Even the titles,
like Vulture Culture, Where the Rivers Run, they
immediately sound more earthy, more grounded
in nature. But why the shift? Did he just get
bored of rap? Did he think folk was more marketable?
I don't think it was boredom, and I definitely
don't think it was purely a cynical marketing
move. I think it was about utility. Folk music
is traditionally speaking a storytelling medium.
It is literally the music of the people. It's
used to process local history, systemic struggle,
relationship to the land. For someone who is
deeply exploring an Afro -Appalachian identity,
someone trying to make sense of being a refugee,
an international adoptee, a black man in the
American South, folk music offers a narrative
framework that trap music might not have provided
in the exact same way. Folk allows for a very
specific, raw kind of vulnerability. It's just
the perfect vessel for the story he suddenly
realized he needed to tell. And speaking of stories,
this brings us to what I think is the most ambitious
thing he's done, and maybe one of the most ambitious
things anyone in folk has done recently, the
acts. Yes, the hero's journey. Starting in July
2023, he decides he's not just releasing singles
anymore. He initiates a massive four -part saga.
Four entire EPs released over the course of basically
two years, structured explicitly around the hero's
journey narrative framework. And I really want
to walk through these titles one by one, because
they tell a story all by themselves, even before
you hear a single note. Let's do it. But as we
go through them... Let's also unpack the psychology
of these titles because he isn't just using literary
terms to sound smart or pretentious. He's actively
mapping out a trauma response. OK, act one released
in 2023. The title is The Wandering. The Wandering.
Just the word implies displacement. It implies
being lost or searching for a path that isn't
clear yet. If we map this back to the immigrant
or the refugee experience, this is the departure
phase. This is the profound feeling of not having
a home. You are physically present in a new country,
but spiritually, psychologically, you are drifting.
It sets the stage perfectly. You have to admit
you're lost before you can be found. Then later
that same year, 2023, we get Act 2. Trials. Trials.
The conflict phase. Every hero in every myth
faces obstacles. In the classic Joseph Campbell
myth structure, this is where the hero fights
the dragon. But in Monrovia's context, the dragon
isn't a literal monster. The dragon is likely
assimilation. It's racism. It's the sheer struggle
of growing up or the relentless feeling of being
an outsider in Tennessee. The music in this era
feels a bit more urgent. It's a bit more conflicted.
You can hear the struggle. Then comes 2024, Act
3. And this title, man, this one hits incredibly
heavy. The Dying of Self. That is a profoundly
heavy title. The Dying of Self. In the hero's
journey framework, this is what Campbell calls
the abyss. It's the ultimate point of death and
rebirth. Let's really dig into that. Dying of
self. It sounds almost morbid on the surface.
Why is this a necessary step in the journey?
Why can't he just go straight from facing his
trials to getting the victory? Because you cannot
solve a new problem with an old identity. That
is the entire crux of the hero's journey. The
self that started the journey, the traumatized
kid from Liberia, or the confused teenager trying
to fit in in Montana, that version of the ego
simply isn't equipped to find lasting peace.
It has too much baggage. So that version of the
ego has to be systematically dismantled. Dismantled
is a very polite word for it. In the music, it
sounds more like a complete implosion. It is
violent, psychologically speaking. If you look
at the track Crooked the Road from this specific
era, the production actually gets murkier. It's
less purely acoustic. It gets more distorted
and layered. He's sonically representing mental
confusion. He's grappling with what psychologists
literally call ego death. For a transnational
adoptee, this is deeply specific. It's the terrifying
realization that, wait, I'm not fully Liberian
anymore, but I'm also not fully American. The
entire identity I tried to build just to please
my adoptive parents or to blend in with my peers,
it's just a mask. And that mask has to burn.
That's terrifying. To basically burn down your
own house psychologically while you are still
living inside it? It is terrifying. But look
at the merch messaging from this specific era.
We checked the sources on this. It wasn't about
hope. It was about sorrow. He forced his audience
to sit in that profound discomfort with him.
He didn't rush to the shiny resolution. And I
think, honestly, that is exactly why the fans
connected so hard to this phase. We live in a
culture of toxic positivity, right? Oh, yeah.
Good vibes only. Manifest your best life. Right.
Good vibes only. And Monrovia steps up and says
no. Bad vibes right now. We are actively dying
right now. We are grieving the cells we have
to leave behind. Which makes the eventual pivot
to the finale actually feel earned. It's not
cheap grace. He did the work. Precisely. You
simply cannot have a resurrection without a death
first. And that brings us to the resolution.
Early 2025. The final part. Act 4. Atonement.
Atonement. Coming to terms with the past. Finding
a sense of peace. In the mythic structure, it's
the return home. But notice the specific word
choice he uses, atonement. That usually implies
making up for a wrong you committed. Right, like
apologizing, like saying sorry for a sin. But
what does he have to be sorry for? He's the one
who was displaced. He was the child. And that
is the absolute beauty of it. In this psychological
context, atonement can also be read literally
as at -one -ment, becoming one with yourself,
finally reconciling the deeply fractured parts
of your identity. It's the Liberian child and
the American adult finally looking at each other
and shaking hands. Wow. At one minute. So when
you look at it like that, wandering trials, dying
of self, atonement, it completely changes how
you listen to the music, doesn't it? It's not
just a playlist anymore. Completely. It elevates
it. It turns a standard discography into a linear
narrative. It's not just a collection of catchy
songs. It's a memoir delivered in four parts.
And what's truly brilliant about how he executed
this is that he invited the audience to go on
this intense psychological journey with him in
real time. We had to wait for atonement. We were
living through the dying of self with him for
months. It creates this incredibly tight, bonded
connection with the listener, which actually
segues perfectly into his whole broader philosophy.
Because if you go to his official website, if
you look at his merch store, there is this three
word slogan plastered everywhere. Heal with others.
Heal with others. It's the core thesis. Not heal
yourself. Not I am healing. Heal with others.
That preposition with is doing a massive amount
of heavy lifting there. Oh, absolutely. But I
do have to play devil's advocate here for a minute.
Heal with others. It's a great slogan. It looks
fantastic. Printed on a hoodie, sold for 65 bucks.
We see this all the time in the modern wellness
economy, right? Commodifying trauma, slapping
a therapy buzzword on a T -shirt. Is this just
brilliant branding? Is he just selling the aesthetic
of therapy to a sad generation? It is a totally
valid cynicism. I mean, we are trained by the
Internet. to see mindfulness as a marketing tactic
these days. Yeah. But I think with Monrovia,
we have to look at the actual receipts, literally.
You mean the financial receipts. Put your money
where your mouth is. I do. Let's talk about the
Winter Watch 24 campaign. Right. This was the
single that was released from Act 4, Atonement.
Correct. Now, normally in the industry, an artist
releases a highly anticipated single from the
final act of a massive project. It streams millions
of times and they collect a massive check. But
Monrovia announced publicly that all proceeds,
every single cent generated from that specific
track would go directly to the International
Rescue Committee, the IRC. Which is the global
organization that helps refugees rebuild their
lives. Connect the dots here. You have Jan J.
Lowe, a child born in Monrovia, adopted and brought
to the U .S., essentially living a refugee story.
He grows up. He struggles immensely. He goes
through his trials, experiences his dying of
self, and finally reaches his atonement. And
what does atonement actually look like for him
in the real world? It looks like giving back.
It looks like taking the platform and the capital
he built from his trauma and using it to fund
the exact organization that helps the next generation
of displaced refugees. So the width in Heal with
Others isn't just about the audience standing
in the room with him at a show. It's about the
people who aren't in the room, the people still
wandering. It's a circular economy of trauma
and recovery. He used the trauma of his past
to create art, sold that art to fans who needed
their own healing, and then used that money to
physically, tangibly help the next child who
was currently stuck in the trauma phase. It operationalizes
the art. It stops being just entertainment and
starts being, I don't know, activism or direct
action. Community organizing might actually be
the better term for it. He's organizing a community
around the fundamental concept of recovery. It
completely validates that heal with others is
a working mission statement, not just a clever
tagline to sell clothes. And the fans are absolutely
buying into the mission. I mean, we're looking
at the tour manifests here from the sources.
The tour wasn't called the Monrovia concert tour
or the atonement tour. It was explicitly called
the A Place to Gather tour. Again, his language
choices matter so much. A place to gather. It
sounds like church. Or a community town hall
meeting. It doesn't sound like a rock show. It
reinforces that communal aspect we keep coming
back to. A concert is fundamentally passive.
You buy a ticket, you stand in the dark, you
watch the performer. But a gathering is active.
You participate. It implies that the audience
is just as important to the event as the person
standing on the stage. And in 2025, his promotional
messaging was super explicit. It said, quote,
join us on tour as we make our way around the
world to heal. To heal. Not to party, not to
rock out, not to catch a vibe, to heal. It creates
a very specific, almost sacred expectation for
the night. You aren't going to that venue to
get drunk and forget your problems. You're going
there specifically to remember them and process
them with a thousand strangers. And looking at
the merch list from the store, which by the way
is sold out of almost everything, you see this
exact theme reinforced visually. There are hoodies
that say Alive Again. There are teeth that say
Daybreak Sorrow. Daybreak Sorrow. Alive Again.
These sound like victory banners after a long
war. They are. They perfectly track with the
narrative arc of the acts we just discussed.
Specifically, moving out of the dying of self
and arriving at atonement. The merchandise isn't
just branding his name. It's a physical extension
of the storytelling. When a fan buys and wears
that Alive Again hoodie, they are physically
wearing the resolution of the hero's journey.
They are publicly identifying themselves as survivors.
It's essentially a uniform for the gathering.
Exactly. It identifies who's in the community.
And clearly, this resonated on a massive scale.
Because we are sitting here talking in 2026,
but the last two years have been an absolute
rocket ship for this guy. The numbers are staggering.
They really defy standard indie folk metrics.
Let's look at the data. By October 2024, he had
accumulated over 500 million views on TikTok.
Half a billion views. That is the raw power of
the digital age. But notice how he used TikTok.
He wasn't just doing trending dances or lip syncing.
He was sharing these incredibly raw, vulnerable,
acoustic moments. He was bringing people into
the wandering and the trials right there on their
phones. He built the emotional community online
way before he ever gathered them in person at
a venue. And the broader music industry caught
on fast. Spotify named him one of their 2024
Juniper artists to watch. And then the major
live festivals came calling. He plays Bonnaroo
in 2024. Which is incredibly poetic, right? Bonnaroo
is held in Manchester, Tennessee. It's a massive,
globally recognized festival, but geographically
it is right in his backyard. It ties perfectly
back to his Chattanooga roots. It's the ultimate
homecoming show. And then the big one. The absolute
holy grail for anyone touching country or folk
music in any capacity. july 2025 grand ole aubry
he makes his debut An Afro -Appalachian artist
born in Liberia, adopted at seven, former SoundCloud
rapper, standing directly in the legendary wooden
circle at the Opry. It is a profoundly historic
moment. And we really need to pause on the cultural
weight of that. The Opry is the bedrock institution
of country and folk music. But for a very long
time, it was a very exclusive, very white institution.
By having Monrovia step into that circle, it
signals a massive broadening of what Appalachian
music looks like to the world. It exalts that
the story of the South is changing. And that
this third culture, this beautiful, messy blend
of West Africa and Tennessee, belongs on that
historic stage just as much as traditional bluegrass
does. It's subversive in the best possible way.
He didn't have to kick the door down or protest
outside. He just walked right in the front door
carrying a banjo, the actual instrument of his
ancestors, and basically said, I belong here.
This is my house, too. And the audience completely
agreed with him. They embraced it. It honestly
gives me chills just thinking about the full
circle nature of that moment. So that brings
us right up to now. Today, February 2026. The
Hero's Journey saga of the four EPs is officially
finished. Atonement is out in the world. The
fans are ideally healed. And now he drops a brand
new album, Bloodline. Bloodline. Released in
2026. And it is absolutely crushing it commercially.
The lead single, Heavy Foot, peaked at number
25 on the U .S. AAA charts. He is officially
mainstream now. I look at that title. Bloodline.
Yeah, let's dig into that for our final point.
Because the hero's journey was very internal.
It was all about the ego and the self. Bloodline
feels... It feels like a pivot. It feels distinctly
external. If the previous two years were all
about the internal psychological journey, the
hero's journey of the fragmented self bloodline
suggests a major shift outward. It suggests a
deep focus on heritage, on physical genetics,
on legacy. It basically asks the next logical
question. Now that I am healed, now that I have
atoned and found peace with myself, where do
I actually come from? Who were my people before
I was adopted and my name was changed? It feels
like he's digging even deeper into that Afro
side of the Afro -Appalachian equation now. He's
secure in the Appalachian side, so he's looking
across the ocean again. I think so. And you can
see it in the physical products. The merch store
currently lists the Bloodline vinyl and the Bloodline
CD as their featured products. It's a tangible,
physical legacy. After the dying of self, you
have to rebuild a new self. And you rebuild that
foundation by understanding your literal bloodline.
It's fascinating to see the visuals he's using
now, too. We mentioned the Alive Again symbol
hoodie earlier, but there's also an ivory symbol
T listed in the sources. Yes, the visual language
he's developing is very consistent and very intentional.
He uses these symbols, almost like ancient runes
or glyphs, to represent these different emotional
stages of the journey. It essentially creates
a secret language for the fan base. If you know
what the ivory symbol means, you're part of the
gathering. You're in the club. You've done the
work. And clearly, people desperately want to
be part of it. The Monrovia 2025 tour poster
is listed as completely sold out on the site.
You cannot get it. That scarcity implies intense
value. It implies a highly dedicated fan base
that wants to own a physical piece of that specific
emotional moment in time. They don't just want
a poster. They want the souvenir from the gathering
where they felt seen. So when we step back and
look at this entire trajectory. It's kind of
unbelievable. We start with a seven -year -old
boy in Monrovia, Liberia. He gets adopted, moves
across the entire ocean, bounces around the U
.S. like a pinball from Florida to Montana, lands
in Chattanooga. He starts making trap beats in
his bedroom. Then he pivots, picks up a ukulele
and a guitar, and constructs this massive four
-part mythological narrative about trauma and
healing. And now, in 2026, he's a chart -topping
artist playing the Opry and funding... Refugee
rescues. It is a massive testament to the sheer
power of storytelling. It's a testament to the
fact that in a highly digital and disconnected
age, people are absolutely hungry for deep meaning.
They don't just want a catchy chorus to dance
to. They want a framework for their own pain.
Monrovia gave them that framework and he set
it to a banjo roll. It really is inspiring. And
I just keep coming back to that label from the
beginning, Afro Appalachian. It's clearly not
just a genre tag. It's a biography. It's his
actual life. It's the truth. He lived it. And
Monrovia represents an entirely new archetype
of the modern folk musician. He uses digital
tools, TikTok algorithms, Spotify playlists to
build something that is intensely physical and
communal. He uses the isolation of the Internet
to bring people into a physical room, into a
place to gather, to process deep personal trauma
together. He literally used the screen to get
them to the stage. Precisely. And in doing so,
he completely redefined who gets to sing the
songs of Appalachia. He reminded all of us that
the roots of that music go so much deeper and
travel so much further than we usually want to
admit. It's incredibly powerful stuff. It really
makes you take a step back and think about what
music is actually for. Like at its core, is it
just back? ground noise while you do the dishes
and commute? Or is it a functional tool? That
is the exact question he's forcing us to ask.
So here is my final question for you listening
to this deep dive right now. If Monrovia's core
mission is to heal with others, how do you engage
with the art you consume? Think about it. When
you buy a ticket and go to a concert, are you
just there to be passively entertained, to stand
there and hold your glowing phone up to record
a video you'll never watch? Or are you looking
for a place to gather? Are you actually looking
to heal? It actively challenges the listener
to be more present. To participate in the healing.
Yeah. To not just mindlessly consume the art,
but to truly connect through it. Absolutely.
If you haven't listened to the acts yet, do yourself
a huge favor tonight. Don't just hit shuffle
on his top tracks. Listen to them in the intended
order. The wandering, trials, the dying of self,
atonement. Take the full journey, feel the descent,
and then feel the return. And then, when you're
ready, crank up Bloodline. It is more than worth
the time. It might change how you listen to music.
Thanks for diving deep with us today. We'll catch
you on the next one. Stay curious.