Southern Discomfort

Their complementary relationship may help explain how Evanescence overcame the potentially crippling handicap of having a chick fronting the band. If that sounds overly facetious, consider that the last time a new femme-led rock band rose to this level -- namely, No Doubt and Garbage, circa 1996 -- Moody and Lee were in junior high. ''A lot of people didn't expect us to do well because I'm a female,'' says Lee. ''I guess that hasn't been selling.''

Rock's recent exclusionary bent has presented a chicken-and-egg conundrum: Maybe alt-rock radio took a misogynist turn, or maybe females were simply too sensible to be interested in the aggro rap-rock that made a late-'90s coup d'etat. Either way, it took Evanescence to finally marry Lilith Fair and Lollapalooza, adopting a simultaneously ethereal and metallic, beauty-meets-beast, Sarah McLachlan-singing-over-Korn approach that some marketing dude would've had to invent if Lee and Moody hadn't gotten there first.

Evanescence's mainstays (augmented by two musicians on tour) met at camp during junior high, when Moody heard Lee picking out a Meat Loaf hit on the piano and raced across the room to put a face to that voice. (For inspiring that fateful meeting, Jim Steinman ''gets a point on the record,'' Moody jokes.) Over the next several years, as Moody grew into a high school gearhead and Lee became choir president, they independently released two EPs and an album in limited editions ranging from 50 to 1,000 copies, all of which easily go for upwards of $300 on eBay now.

Last year, the duo -- by then living in L.A. -- signed with New York-based Wind-up Records. That's been a blessing, since the label did put together that ''Daredevil'' deal, but also something of a curse, because Wind-up includes spiritually inclined acts Creed and 12 Stones (whose singer, Paul McCoy, provides the guest vocal on ''Bring Me to Life''); religious conspiracy theories abound. ''There are people hell-bent on the idea that we're a Christian band in disguise, and that we have some secret message,'' says Lee. ''We have no spiritual affiliation with this music. It's simply about life experience.''

The perception hardly came out of nowhere: Lee and Moody discussed their faith in some early, pre-''Fallen'' interviews, which they now count as youthful indiscretions. More recently, Wind-up made a deal to distribute the album at Christian stores. ''I'm not ashamed of my spiritual beliefs, but I in no way incorporate them into this band,'' says Moody. ''We're actually high on the Christian charts, and I'm like, What the f--- are we even doing there?'' Adds Lee, ''I guarantee that if the Christian bookstore owners listened to some of those songs, they wouldn't sell the CD.'' I suggest that, after this interview, that may no longer be a problem. ''Thank you,'' says Lee.

An even touchier subject is whether Lee and Moody are following in the tortured romantic footsteps of the White Stripes -- soldiering on musically after a breakup. Moody has been quoted saying they were once betrothed, but now insists he was fibbing. ''Jesus Christ, no. Can you imagine being in a band with someone you were once engaged to? Our band is much more important than a romantic relationship, and besides, I can't f---ing stand her. But I love her!''

''In that can't-standing way,'' says Lee.

Middle digits are exchanged, and the playful antagonism continues as Moody bemoans his inevitable ''Mr. Cellophane'' status alongside his highly photogenic ex/not-ex. ''I think you'll see me in the next video,'' he announces. ''I did write the music and all. I'm gonna be there for the editing, so I might slip in a shot here and there.''

The bill arrives, and Moody can't help but make a parting plea for equal time. ''Give me my moment. I'm like the guy who was crucified next to Jesus. All I want you to do is remember me.'' Lee laughs: ''Just what we need -- some biblical quotes.''