By Emma Schwichtenberg

Before Beyoncé made a roots record, Shaina Shepherd was exploring the Americana genre.

The music, inspired by the fusion of early European and African cultural narratives, compelled the young artist. The genre swept her away with its ability to tell a story that focuses on the warm tonality of the human spirit.

“Americana is the musical form of freedom; and you can leave it to a Black artist to hyper fixate on freedom,” Shepherd said. “We want it — it's not a birthright, it's a mission.”

She went on a tour in 2021 specifically designed to connect with other rock and roots artists of color across the country. She could feel the frustration from Black artists, whose music, she said, had been drained by the national music industry — a nationwide bubble of ennui that Beyoncé attempted to burst in 2024 with her album Cowboy Carter.

She found herself asking: “Why can't Black artists stand in front of the American sound of Americana?”

Much like Americana, rock 'n' roll defies conventions. It embraces a freedom of expression that transcends boundaries and celebrates uniqueness in every form. For Shepherd, that's why Seattle has been branded a rock and roll town.

“Our city is built off of pioneerism and capital,” Shepherd said. “It's pretty incredible that a group of anarchist, DIY teenagers in the late 70s to early 90s were able to string together a culture strong enough to carry a socioeconomic movement that changed the world’s relationship with music forever.”

In the decades that followed, the entire Pacific Northwest creative industry dwelled in the vast shadow of rock and grunge. Shepherd was raised on the political fervor of Rage Against the Machine, the commanding elegance of Kim Thayil's guitar, and the "world-changing, mind-shattering sound" of Jimi Hendrix.

“It always felt to me that people were more comfortable, watching a Black woman shout and scream in front of a rock band full of white people than watching a Black woman croon and cry at a piano by herself,” Shepherd said.

Shepherd got her start in music singing gospel at the Christ Temple Church in Tacoma, Washington, as a middle schooler.

“We were so passionate about singing in that group,” Shepherd said. “It was with all these adults and we took it really, really seriously. I would be practicing the songs all week long.”

Outside of the choir, Shepherd was quiet and shy.

“What attracted me to music was the environment that I was getting to have access to,” Shepherd said. “People that are down to make music, who are down to have that emotional dynamic. The whole role wasn't to shock anyone or anything, but it was to inspire people to get their own voices out there.”

She studied classical voice throughout college, using music as an instrument, seeing herself as the instrument even.

During her senior year of college, she would go out to clubs in New York City and try to participate in open mic or karaoke events — aiming to learn about the drag and queer scene as a queer person. She'd be out all night, trying to immerse herself in the world of musical theater, then in the morning, she'd wake up at seven a.m. and work on warming up for her studio recitals.

During that year, she developed a nodule on her vocal cord. A nodule is a benign growth that can develop on the vocal cords due to excessive use of the voice.

“I think I just kept my voice under the ringer at a really important time with local development as an adult,” Shepherd said.

She was instructed to have the nodule removed, but as she was in the middle of auditions, she didn’t see that as a possibility. She decided to wait until after auditions, but her voice didn’t last long enough to see her through.

Shepherd had to step away from singing for a year and a half.

“I was focused on getting my voice back. I spent every dime, every iota time focused on repairing my voice, getting the right lessons, going to the right clinicians,” Shepherd said. “I changed my whole lifestyle just to get my voice back.”

What she remembers best is the feeling when her voice first started to come back. She would vibrate her vocal cords by humming every morning, behind the back of her nose, to try and hone in her voice. When she realized it was back, she began to cry.

“It was a challenge for years trying to just feel like you're blind in a box. Like it's caught in a trap. Just trapped by your body for so long,” Shepherd said. “I'm just very grateful to have to find a way out of that box.”

She was still trying to figure out how to be useful in the music industry. Her sound was no longer that of a lyric soprano, with tight vocal cords and flexibility in the vocal folds. After her injury, her vocal cords had loosened so much that she became a belter.

“Belting of course, people go to church choirs to hear. I did not belt before this injury. But when I started to have to develop that area, that's when I think my sound developed a focus,” Shepherd said. “I think it created a place where my writing is way more intimate, and the storytelling is more compact and deliberate to the audience.”

She arrived in Seattle in "turmoil" — Having no place to live, she boarded the bus in Tacoma and rode it all the way to Seattle, getting off at 6 a.m. Her goals were simple: be diligent and get a job.

She began picking up gigs everywhere: birthday parties, musicals at community colleges, background singing for music videos — anywhere she could sing. Eventually, she found her way to BEARAXE, a rock and roll band based in Seattle.

“My first project, BEARAXE, provided me a space to channel my feelings of frustration and disempowerment into something productive and healing for me,” Shepherd said.

Shepherd said that, even after their first meeting, it was clear to her that there was a special connection. Within the first two days, even without a name for the band, they had a couple of songs. The band played together for about four or five years until the pandemic hit, and then they disbanded.

“I just started playing by myself,” Shepherd said. “I started learning the piano by myself, it was a year of like nobody's able to do anything. So it was just me by myself. In my apartment, I'm learning how to play the piano songs just the same.”

She began to follow her instincts to opportunities that benefited solo artists, trying to find her own voice through writing.

“When I have to play by myself, I have to internationalize my whole being before I get there,” Shepherd said. “I have to cleanse my energy. I have to have a relationship with the people in the room. And I have to have an energetic space to connect with them. Because if not, they're just watching TV, you know?”

When she had just reached rock bottom in her creative journey, she felt like her soul reached out to save her body, and she wrote her song, "Hope." It was a song that resonated with Omari Salisbury, founder of Converge Media.

“I was devastated by the state of the world: dawning into my adulthood, my power, my intellectual consciousness; I was deeply inspired by Omari and his ability to tell the truth with his craft while inspiring people of all colors to be a part of something bigger than the past.,” Shepherd said. “Even though I was so drained and so tired and so over it. Converge was able to give me a little bit of hope. That song was the beginning of me connecting my creative pursuit with my healing journey.”

For Shepherd, that is what art is all about.

“I'm focused on living my best Black Girl Magic,” Shepherd said. “Giving myself grace, providing myself space for revival, and sharing all the intimacy of my heart and mind: the true artist way,” Shepherd said.

Keep up with Shepherd on her Instagram at @shainashepherdmusic or at shainashepherdmusic.com.