Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Paige DeChausse. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Alright, Paige thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Do you think your parents have had a meaningful impact on you and your journey?

I always say the greatest gift my folks gave me was freedom. I was the youngest of three, so I spent a lot of my life watching. Watching my sisters, watching my parents, my grandparents, watching how people moved through the world. And because of that, I became really observant early on.

We were a very blue collar family. Everybody worked. My dad welded. My mom waitressed and sang. Nobody sat me down and gave long speeches about discipline or ambition, but I watched them get up every single day and do what had to be done. There was a lot of dignity and consistency that I respected.

At the same time, they were incredibly hands off in a way that I now realize was a gift. They didn’t micromanage me or try to steer some version of success. Whether it was riding my bike for hours, looking for bugs under rocks or singing constantly, I had a lot of room to explore and figure out who I was on my own terms. I think that freedom developed my instincts. I learned to trust my gut because I had to. There wasn’t somebody constantly telling me what was right or wrong so I stayed curious. I developed this huge appetite for music, stories, people . . .and honestly, that curiosity still drives everything I do with The Reverent Few & any music I make today.

Looking back, I think my parents taught me two things without ever saying them out loud: work hard, and trust yourself. That combination has shaped my entire life.

Paige , love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

Music started very naturally for me. My mother was a singer and, quite honestly, I don’t recall a time in my life when I wasn’t singing. I never proclaimed one day, “And now I will be a singer.” I just always sang. It chose me, I guess.

Having all of that youngest child perspective definitely helped shape my songwriting and storytelling. I spent a lot of my time writing as a child, had published poems, and won essay contests. I never thought of myself, hell if I’m being honest I still don’t think of myself as a songwriter. Mostly because I don’t write often enough.

I’ve always had a little disconnect between my songwriting and singing, or performance style rather. I love to write in the form I was raised on, ala John Prine, but I love to perform with vigor and play off-the-cuff covers. I love Bowie and Tom Waits, but I grew up singing a lot of soul music. I never pigeonhole our sound for that reason.

I think what sets us apart is that there’s very little separation between who we are offstage and what we create artistically. The two shake hands. We speak openly and write poignantly about our life, the loss, grief, resilience. Nick, my husband, and I spent a good portion of our early years in Austin starting over and scraping by. Now we’ve grown our community and career independently and organically.

Everything from the music we make to the events we host comes from that same place of connection and lived experience. One of the most meaningful things we’ve created outside of music itself is Rock-N-Roll for Respite Care, an annual benefit concert supporting Austin families and musicians navigating caregiving, illness, and loss. Nick and I both walked through that personally with my mother’s early onset Alzheimer’s and his father’s ALS, so the event grew out of lived experience and the kindness people showed us during those years. It’s become a way for our music community to rally around others and remind people they don’t have to carry hard things alone.

That same collaborative spirit spills into everything else we do. Porchella, our annual SXSW front porch party, brought more than 500 people into our front yard this year while 20+ Austin artists played from the porch of our 100-year-old house. We also co-create an annual New Year’s Eve show alongside our dear friends in Madam Radar, which has become this really beautiful tradition of music, friendship, and community. I think that’s the thread through all of it for me. Music has never felt singular. The magic has always been in gathering people together.

That just takes an idea, some excitement, and an invitation. The people come, they support, they gather. You just have to stay grateful and grounded.

I’m most proud of the people we’ve become, music aside. That, and the fact that we’re going to be parents. We just found out we’re HAVING A BABY, so that’s our finest work yet, that little heartbeat. Best sound in the world!

I’m long-winded. I’m feeling for two these days.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

That I am more than the thing I do. A few years ago, I started having wild voice issues. I’d been to several ENTs and no issues were found with my vocal cords. It was baffling. I had such strain and tightness. At one point, I found it almost impossible to speak, but I could still cry or laugh. I finally found Dr. Chad Whited, and he diagnosed the issue. At this point, the diagnosis itself doesn’t even really matter. It’s just a name for a condition.
What mattered was hearing that it was neurological and potentially incurable. I truly thought I might never sing again.

I started to consider my creative options because I’d never felt so far from myself. My voice, my instrument, is attached to me. It’s not a trumpet or guitar I can simply set down. It’s part of my identity, the vehicle in which I deliver my truth. I felt robbed and hopeless.

And the greatest gift I learned while navigating all of that was that I was, in fact, more than the sound I made. I had more worth than just the thing I did.

I started using my voice differently, more through writing, and it realigned my inherent sense of self-worth. I allowed myself to take the pressure off for the first time in my life. To exist outside of performance. Outside of expectation.
It was the darkest, brightest gift.

Are there any resources you wish you knew about earlier in your creative journey?

I wouldn’t say resources necessarily, but knowledge, yes.

I wish I had understood earlier that comparison really is the thief of your joy. Everyone has imposter syndrome at some point, even the people you admire most. When we’re young, especially creatively, we’re so tethered to our ego. Constantly trying to prove our place, our value, our talent. But none of that means much if you piss everyone off on your way to the top. And honestly, the top is lonely. Ask anyone.

I think one of the best things you can do is make music with other people. Learn how to listen. Learn how to play together, not just for yourself or to pander for approval. Be intentional and collaborative. Put a band together. Let people challenge you creatively. Let them sharpen you.

I’ve enjoyed making music over the last 13 years in Austin because I found community through it. I’ve never had so much fun or felt so supported creatively. Whether I am playing in my band, The Reverent Few or with my four best female friends in PAACK, music stopped becoming this singular experience where everything rested on me alone. It became about all of us, the band, the room, the audience, the shared moment.

And don’t forget about the people in the crowd either. Those supportive folks showing up to your shows matter deeply. Be kind to your fans. Talk to them. Hug them. Remember their names. You might play hundreds of shows, but for someone in that audience, your music may have found them at exactly the right time in their life. Your music can save someone, it’s such a gift.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://thereverentfew.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thereverentfew/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thereverentfew

Image Credits
Stan Martin watermarked