And is she St. Louis’ next hip-hop phenom?
By Matthew Halverson
When Penelope Jones gets nervous or excited—which happens a lot these days—her eyes get wide and she cocks her head to the side and exhales a little “hoo!” It’s almost cute and not at all what you’d expect from a former prison inmate, much less one who once spent 30 days in the hole.
It’s tough to talk about Jones’ budding hip-hop career without mentioning her time behind bars for drug-related offenses; her record label, Universal Motown, is using the subject—and other hard-knock-life moments from her past—to promote her debut album, which drops later this summer. Hip-hop magazines that tout her as a star on the verge reference her three-year stretch from 2001 to 2004 as an exercise in rep-building. Even Jones herself credits the sentence with giving her a story to tell and with helping her land a lucrative record deal. In an industry where credibility is currency, it’s almost as if prison was a prerequisite to success.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she counters. “You don’t have to go to prison, but there has to be some type of substance behind you. That’s just the reality of this business.”
If that’s the case, Jones has more than enough grist for all five albums she’s contractually obligated to record. First, there was prison. Then there was her brother’s murder in October 2003, three months before her sentence was up. And then her cousin was shot last March. “After that, I had to get on my knees and say, ‘Lord, have mercy,’” she says. “God is keeping me totally grounded.”
Jones worries a lot about keeping things in perspective, repeatedly expressing her desire to remain herself. “Spooky” is what she calls the early buzz on her album [still untitled at press time], and she’s well aware of the expectations attached to anyone who emerges from the St. Louis hip-hop scene. It’s enough to make a girl “hoo.”
“Everyone’s expecting so much out of me,” she says, sounding just the slightest bit weary. “And I’m not saying I can’t deliver, but I’m not saying I can be everything they want me to be.”
It’s a candid—and refreshing—admission from someone entering an industry built on boasts and chest thumping. Call it a result of the life-imitates-art drama she’s endured or just the sign of an almost-star who’s savvy enough to know that talent isn’t always enough to make good things happen. Either way, as she’s forced to imagine how she’ll feel if her album tanks (“I can say I gave y’all me, and that’s all I can do”) or takes off (“Sitting on top of the world”), she doesn’t sound like a sucker to her own hype machine.
“I’m just praying that my management team can help me succeed in this,” she says. “They knew exactly what to do with Nelly and where to put him. I’m hopeful they can use those same avenues to help me.”
And there it is: the N-word. She feels the pressure of following Nelly, but she’s prepared for it ... sort of. “Don’t expect me to come out and fill Nelly’s shoes, because Nelly is Nelly,” she says. “I’m filling Penelope’s shoes—and I believe that I’m going to make it happen. And I’m excited. And I’m nervous. And I’m ready.”
