Actually I had showed up to see T ad Robinson. A satisfying show, despite the echoing reverb that comes with playing in a place that is half concrete and half cave. As Robinson moved to his finale, a restlessness wafted among the seats, and I kept overhearing the same name: Jennie. Have you heard her? Four minutes into her set I knew who Jennie DeVoe was.
And had she launched her career a decade—even five years—before Napster, a Jennie DeVoe encounter at J. Penney would go around the cookout patio with the same gravitas as bumming a smoke off Mellencamp in a McDonalds. She was that close. It was an impetuousness borne out the love for music she adopted from her father. It was a bunch of engineers and ad-agency people who were all good musicians, one of them was Dean Metcalf , from Q In the months that followed, gigs around the Circle City sprung up.
A lot of things happened the right way for DeVoe out of that gate. Both Universal and Atlantic Records showed interest in signing her. I love them, still. When I sit down and listen to them—which is also rare—I appreciate the sonics…the engineering. As DeVoe explains, the records were manufactured with air for precision, that clean commercial studio sound that defined her in the beginning.
Any hole that should have been left for a listener to think and enjoy a moment that they just heard…we stole that from them. I have a lot less angst in me, and I feel that the skill of being a songwriter is my thing now. It makes me gratified to know all these people and have them as part of my family.
Her life is an example for others wanting to follow similar paths. I would encourage anybody who has a talent that they want to exploit to just put their blinders on and follow their dreams. If there is just a passion in your life, it has to be part of your life as a hobby or your living.
And all this from a woman whose raw talent was unknown even by her husband, Rob, until she volunteered to try out as lead singer for a makeshift band at his place of business. Jennie DeVoe is an endearing soul-blues singer who radiates the vibe of a 21st century flower child. Her potent gospel voice tames any crowd she encounters. DeVoe is now inhabiting the dangerous, psychedelic space of icon Janis Joplin.
She is capable of engaging totally, locking eyes, her conversation instantly confessional and intimate, wacky and profound as she rockets from topic to topic. Good luck, and thanks for the great music.
The thought of singing professionally didn't seem so ridiculous by the time DeVoe graduated college. She was so determined to give it a go that she went the commercial route with Bill Mallers and Chris Lieber, co-owners of rippleFX, a project studio in Broad Ripple for commercial advertising.
When DeVoe and Rob moved to Indianapolis from Muncie, she got a job at rippleFX pouring coffee, serving doughnuts and assisting customers and staff. It was the longest she ever worked in one place. It was her school. Eventually DeVoe worked up the courage to tell Mallers and Lieber she could sing, and offered to do voice-over work for them. It had been a secret she managed to keep well. Mallers, who later played keyboards in DeVoe's band for about four years, remembers her as a raw talent then.
It's kind of like watching a wild horse run around in the wilderness, but she wanted to be a racehorse. So she had to be tamed a little bit. Over some five years, DeVoe learned to harness and control her talent.
She did voiceover for a national Meijer ad campaign during those five years, an unheard of length of time in that industry. We did some pretty creative work together. I'm pretty sure that's something she remembers, in terms of creating music. It should be fun. It's not supposed to be toil and trouble. Go make records and do this commercial stuff on the side and don't be ashamed of it.
In her debut, Does She Walk on Water , was released. Two years later came Ta Da. She still likes those two records, but doesn't really listen to them anymore. Parish is best known for collaborating with and producing PJ Harvey.
DeVoe has long counted herself a fan of Harvey's. But I know what kind of writer and singer I am. By extension, she's long admired Parish's production of such artists as the Eels and Sparklehorse. It was his work on Tracy Chapman's Let it Rain that finally prompted her to contact the eclectic Englishman.
DeVoe approached Parish like she has everyone else in her career: She looked up contact information for him online and e-mailed his manager. The initial response was a resounding no.
A few more inquires finally convinced them to ask for some demos. After sending some completed material, DeVoe gave Parish recordings of just her and guitar. Then he called. Assuming an English accent, she recounts what he said: "Yes, yes. I like it. I like your voice and I like your songs, and I think we could do a good record.
Those are generally made instinctively. What convinced him to work with DeVoe is "I thought she was doing something I felt I could help her get closer to what she wanted her music to be. That's another reason I'll work with someone: I can see what they're trying to do and they're not quite there, and I think I know how to push it into that direction. Jennie was very much one of those cases. I felt I could help her express more clearly what she wanted to express.
Lodde accompanied her to play guitar on the record. Jennie was paying all this money, and the whole time I was thinking, 'My god, these people work with major stars. Who am I? It was the start of a new era in DeVoe's musical passage. More than just exuding soul, she wanted something that sounded timeless.
It's a quality also found on the Parish-produced Strange Sunshine. Tell me something -- how come a woman as funny as you writes so many sad songs? If I produced an album for you I wouldn't let you put one sad song on it.
Where's that sparkling wit? That personality? That Jennie se qua [sic]? Everyone agrees on one aspect of this year's Vintage Wine Festival. She tends to bring the rain. DeVoe is performing a two-hour set at the annual event in Military Park.
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