John Orth has never been to Holopaw, a little Central Florida town currently losing whatever backwoods individuality it once held to Orlando's encroaching suburban sprawl. Nor do any other members of the Gainesville band come from, or claim any special connection to, the tiny burg whose name might be derived from the Seminole word meaning "place where something is hauled," but is more likely a mispronounced term some white folks thought sounded kind of Indian."I was looking through a book that talked about the origin of Florida names, all the cities and towns," says Orth, "and just thought it was a particularly beautiful name, and didn't really have any connotations behind it."
Which is weird, because Holopaw, the band, sounds a lot like the town of Holopaw probably used to feel, back when modernity first appeared on the horizon but hadn't yet begun to dilute its charm. Theirs is a quiet yet expansive sound, one that pairs simple, somewhat rootsy acoustic guitar-wrought songs with subtly psychedelic synth-noise incursions. When overlaid by Orth's plaintive melodies, the tuneage beautifully evinces the uncertainty of standing at the future's threshold while yearning for the past.
"It does seem apt," the singer agrees.
Most indie rock fans outside Gainesville's city limits are familiar with Orth, if at all, as a contributor to Ugly Casanova, last year's myth-shrouded side project by Modest Mouse principal Isaac Brock. But Holopaw's been around in one form or another for more than four years, at first revolving around the core of Orth and guitarist/multi-instrumentalist Jeff Hays. Hays would write the music, while Orth, a visual artist with a nationally syndicated comic (Humble Shine Production) to his credit, found another creative outlet in writing lyrics and singing.
"He wasn't really interested in singing or writing lyrics," Orth says of Hays, "and I don't play an instrument. He was just really great about my coming to him with melodies, and putting music to it."
Even in its most stripped-down origins, Holopaw was never really a country or folk endeavor, though the acoustic guitars and pedal steel lent it that flavor, and even Orth sometimes referred to it as such ("it was just easier than explaining all the different elements involved"). And as the pair invited various musicians to elaborate on their sound during live gigs, it meandered even farther away from those kinds of comparisons. While "earthy" or "organic" remained appropriate adjectives for their more rudimentary facets, "country" became more than a little misleading. By the time bassist Tobi Echevarria and keyboardists Ryan Gensemer and Michael Johnson were contributing, Holopaw sounded more like a front-porch Radiohead than, say, Beachwood Sparks.
"I like to think that's what's interesting about it," says Orth. "That also comes from Michael's influence. He's really into old synthesizers — at this point we've got three or four in the band. And to pair that with acoustic arrangements, I think, adds a weird edge to it."
Enter Modest Mousketeer Brock. He witnessed a hometown Holopaw set, befriended Orth and, in addition to recruiting the singer for some Ugly Casanova action, sent Holopaw into Chicago's Engine Studios intending to put out the resulting record himself. Finding his schedule a little too packed to accommodate label honcho-hood, however, Brock played the finished tracks for some friends at Sub Pop Records, who released Holopaw's excellent self-titled full-length this week.
A disc eager to become inseparable pals with your headphones, Holopaw adeptly captures in music the melancholy of life's pivotal little scenes. Johnson's electronic additions to Hays and Orth's sparse songwriting set the tracks far outside the realm of roots music, rendering them both intriguing and experimental. At the core, though, an archetypal sort of Americana persists.
According to Orth, the CD owes much of its distinctive vibe to the fact that Holopaw's members never really followed the now-standard punk/indie route from fandom to bandom.
"When Jeff (Hays) was 16, 17, he was really into '60s stuff, The Flying Burrito Brothers, stuff kids his age would never be into," he says. "All the guys in our band sort of come at it from more disparate places than where normal kids would come into music."
He also credits his artistic background for the snapshot-like sense of momentary description that characterizes the album's lyrics, ably complementing the music's evocative vibe.
"I started as a visual artist; that's the way I've always thought of myself. That's definitely the starting place for the lyrical content of the songs," he says. "It sort of begins with visual details and expands around that."
Up until now, most of the band's gigs have been in and around Gainesville, allowing them to go into great detail in providing a show that aptly complements that visual feel, employing films, props and segue music between songs. For their current tour supporting similarly acoustic/roots-inflected outfits Iron & Wine and Fruit Bats, they hope to deliver a scaled-down, more easily workable multimedia experience, but it depends on how much fragile shit they can cram into a van and manage to keep working.
"I like to think the music is atmospheric enough," says Orth. "Michael (Johnson) is really great about filling in all the gaps in between songs; the music should speak for itself."
Anyone who's attended or played a fair share of club dates knows atmosphere is a tough thing to build around a spotty PA system, minimal lights and a gaggle of hipsters chatting each other up at the bar. It's doubly difficult for an act whose impact hinges partly on a sonically intimate dynamic, but Holopaw, with their ability to simultaneously immerse and transport listeners, seems more than up to the task. And, Orth points out, the current touring bill is uniform enough that fans of one act will likely respect and be intrigued by the others.
"If anyone's coming to see Iron & Wine and Fruit Bats, they're not expecting a big rock show," he says.
Plus, he adds with a laugh, it comes down to that "we're definitely gonna be the loudest band on the bill, I think."
Calling all Bay area original bands that don't, you know, suck: Orlando culture/ scene paper aXis is gearing up for the second installment of its wildly successful downtown showcase, the aXis Florida Music Festival and Conference. FMF2003 will be held April 10-12, on 15, count 'em, 15 stages within walking distance of one another in downtown Orlando. Last year, several acts from West Central Florida were invited to play, and this year should be no different — the conference solicits bands from all over the state, and four bands that showcased last year (New Address, Standstill, 3AE, Submursed) were signed to major labels over the ensuing 12 months.
So get your shit together. The deadline for submissions is Feb. 28, but if you want to save 5 bucks off the fee, send yours before Jan. 31 and it's only $20.
Here's what they want: a 3-song disc; B&W photo, 5-by-7 or larger. Registration form is downloadable from www.axismag.com/fmf. Send check or money order.
Send packages to
aXis FMF 2003, 116 B S. Orange Ave., Orlando, FL 32801 Attn: Submissions
Good luck.
Music critic Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or by e-mail at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Jan 15-21, 2003.