Jennie DeVoe
Beyond DeVoe's compelling sound, her "soulful hippie-funk vocals," is her hypnotic, manic energy. She is capable of engaging totally, locking eyes, her conversation instantly confessional and intimate, wacky and profound as she rockets from topic to topic. With her pierced nose, bohemian affectations, there's a rowdiness and youth about her, and to make her laugh is to bask in her particular brand of strange sunshine. Fans, photographers, street vendors, babies and animals seem to lean into what she radiates, and work all the harder to keep the attention coming. Her fears are dying of boredom and wearing pantyhose and being tortured by the squeaky sound of balloons or Styrofoam.
Her voice isn't the kind that's manufactured in the pop-princess factory. It's bigness is all about resonance and solidity. It's deliberate, not coy; controlled yet unpredictable. A music critic might say it has the texture and evenness of melted chocolate. Many fans compare her to Janis Joplin which DeVoe finds flattering but not quite right. On her latest cd, Fireworks & Karate Supplies, recorded in England with famed producer John Parish. DeVoe's vocals have a wise, raw, human quality that reveals her to be more than just a pretty-good-for-a-local-girl kind of talent. Her lyrics are smart, kooky and often pleasingly simple:
I'm gonna need a limousine
little bit of money and some kerosene
and a driver who don't know my name
- Indianapolis Monthly, December 2004