How one band made a name for itself in Knoxville's "extreme" music scene
by Leslie Wylie
It's hard to be the bologna in an alternative music sandwich—especially in this town, where the "extreme" spotlight is only big enough for a fistful of bands. Attention from local radio is hard to come by and the support of local entertainment bigwigs can mean the difference between blowing up and fizzling out.
But sometimes, with the right combination of blood, sweat, tears and luck, things fall into place. So it was with shadowWax, a band whose ascent up the local music ladder is especially impressive considering its relative status as a baby on the scene. Since its conception less than two years ago, the band has released two EPs (Stories...and the more recent Nina EP), topped Internet music charts, and headlined shows throughout East Tennessee, Kentucky and North Carolina.
"We did it completely backwards than what you're supposed to," says vocalist Eric Christopher, straining his voice to be heard over the Incubus that blares from the speakers at Hanna's in the Old City. "We came out, and our first show was headlined at The Pub. We tried to open for people, but these bands owed a lot of favors to [other bands] so we just had to go book our own show on a Tuesday night with 30 people there."
Six dates later, the shows had gone from what drummer Josh Buchanan describes as "Central High School reunions" to performances that packed The Pub's porch even in sub-freezing weather. To further broaden their fan base and infiltrate area stereos, Christopher and Buchanan, along with guitarist Brad James and bassist Chris Hamlet, handed out hundreds of free CDs at shows and local record stores.
The strategy worked and also netted the interest of 94.3 Extreme Radio by way of securing airtime and a spot for the band's angstful anthem "Nina" on its Southeast Exports 4 compilation album. By the close of 2002, shadowWax had opened for national acts Seether and Audiovent and was headlining its own shows at Blue Cats.
Today, while the band acknowledges the leg up it was given by the radio station, it concedes that life within the "extreme" music envelope can be stifling. Because there is only one avenue to commercial new rock airplay in Knoxville, it often gets bottlenecked by other bands vying for the station's attention.
"We have people from other local bands that we get along with, but there's this competition that comes up that we're not down with," Christopher says. "There's a lot of bands talking behind each other's backs in this town right now, and when they're in front of you it's another story."
Then there's the annoyance of wanton label-tossing. Throughout its existence, shadowWax has been fighting against genre pigeonholing and slipshod comparisons to everything from Creed to Pantera. But its latest categorization—"extreme"—may be the broadest and most nonsensical yet.
"People tend in this town to blow around the word 'extreme,'" Christopher says. "We don't want to be just an 'extreme' band at all. There's a lot more to it than that."
If anything, a more apt description of shadowWax's style might go something like post-grunge realism. The band prides itself on writing real songs about real situations and forging a connection with its audience.
"We don't put ourselves in just one category of music," Buchanan says. "We play such a wide variety of things, I think that pretty much everybody can take away something from the CD or the show. If you want it laid-back, if you want it super-emotional, or if you want it just driving and banging your head, we've got it."
Christopher takes a swig of his beer and points to the speaker overhead.
"That's one big thing about us—there's no gimmicks," he says. "You know, I love Incubus, but there'll never be a turntable in shadowWax."
As for the future, the members of shadowWax are still holding fast to the rock-star dream of doing what they love and getting paid for it—with a few conditions.
"If they offer us a deal, whoever that is, they have to be willing to stand behind us," Christopher says. "We don't want to become another box of cereal; we don't want to be shelved after we think it's going to come out and all this stuff. It's going to have to be someone that gets the music, and we'll move forward from there."
But for now, the band is content to continue grappling with the Knoxville music-making paradox of getting heard, not lost between the buns of compromise.
"You can't quit, you can't give up... but you've kind of got to have the stuff to back it up," Christopher says. "And that's something we're proud of, because we've worked real hard. But it's hard to get people to listen around here."
March 12, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 11
© 2003 Metro Pulse
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