Prose without persistence
The sort of bopped up, keyboard-led, plinky guitar, occasional xylophone music that is led by narrative-laden, unconventional, slightly flat and quirked up vocal melody. All in all, Ben Folds would say 'Aye' to this and raise a glass. But then he would perhaps reach for that itch on his back, before realising that the itch has become unbearable and there is blood everywhere. The knife lodged firmly in the back of our dear piano genius was placed there by the unrelenting hand of first track 'Invisible Ink'. And now it has cut off his hands and used them to play the drums.
Things are pretty good and warm and the whole act manages to bop along the rainbow streets, fully aware of the mud and melancholy undercurrent that lurks underneath, via their narrative. But it just don't stick, does it! The efforts of a dark and cynical lyricism is all very well, but only is this truly successful when the story is powerful enough to keep its head above the sunshine composition. And with Mono Fio, it seems they are desperate to be the ones to inject pop with some edge (as so many before have claimed to achieve), but by trying to fit in a meaningful hook the melody is not only watered, but so is the initial message within. As a consensus between the light and dark occurs out of a form of song writing obligation, the overall colour is weakened.
Analogy corner: it's like a young Morrissey in the shower, just before bedtime, tending to his floppy quiff... but with not enough cream and willpower to 'get it up'.
In those rare occurrences when different mediums somehow seem to complement each other, we find that Mono Fio dainty little 3-inch... demo is fitting to the band's Way. It is 'cute', by and large, with the desire to pull attention with the smallest of voices. And it sticks out, only because it decides to go the other way from crowd and mooch off with a tune in its head and a pang in its heart. But the issue is also that there isn't enough to digest and that the shockwaves it sends is dampened by the lack of sharp edges...
Maybe all this is missing the point and that the band actively seek a flowery outlook that secretly carries a rotten seed inside, but for anyone that hasn't got oodles of time to dissect, ponder, analyse and romanticise, the three songs could be carelessly swept away by a dismissive and clumsy 'Yeah well, it's just Ben Folds, innit?' muttering.