A good catch

In 2005, the novel Moby Dick inspired a band to call themselves “Or, The Whale” and a ship of musical fellowship and philanthropy set sail.

The band consists of highly individualized players, each with their own resilient identity and taste for creating tunes. The result, rather than being an irreverently compiled grab bag of conflicting hoots and twangs, is an unusual yet pleasing wild card genre, which could reasonably be dubbed Nautical Americana. Julie Thomasson, who plays keys and lends her vocal talents, elaborates in a recent interview.

“I think something about the chemistry and the way we bend styles is authentic,” she says. “It comes from the fact that we speak to each other musically. We blend our styles because we are seven people who like seven different things, and we’re allowing that. We’re letting people do what they want to do and for whatever reason it ends up being OK together.”

The project, which was initiated by founder Alex Robin’s Craigslist ad, has become somewhat of a quirky yet fully functional family with music as its gene pool. In addition to Thomasson, Robins was the original lyricist, acoustic guitarist and banjo player, while generally taking lead on the vocals.

Fiery redhead Lindsay Garfield joins the group on percussion and vocals. Matt Sartain, a high school friend of Robin’s, plays strings and lends his creative vision to several of the band’s posters and photo shoots. Justin Santl, bassist, also lends vocal harmonies. Tim Marcus, the alleged comic relief of the clan, plays everything difficult to master and pronounce, including the pedal steel and the dobro.

Each particular instrumental skill is accompanied by a particular style, which resonates in the subsequent sound, blending graceful pounds and sways with catchy lyrics and crisp, tidy pickups. It’s extremely easy to dive into, though the name sometimes brings unexpected obstacles.

“It’s sort of a strange name,” Thomasson says. “I mean, it starts with a preposition, but it is based on the subtitle of Moby Dick. We’ve [been billed] a lot of different ways. When we were thinking of a name, everyone had a suggestion, so we [narrowed] it to things that had a few references to our music. Some of them were really awful, like ‘Cabbages and Kings.’ I’m really glad we didn’t go with that one. But Moby Dick had a lot of broad themes—life and death and sea. You can make a lot of analogies to things.”

A band symbolic in both its material and purpose, Or, The Whale allows each of its members an equal say in all aspects of musical creation and production.

“It’s supposed to be a family band,” Thomasson says. “We always try to maintain the most democratic feel possible.”

The family values don’t end with mottos and catchphrases, the band’s grassroots label shares their sentiments.

“We are the flagship band for a nonprofit, small label called Seany Records,” Thomasson explains. “It’s named after a boy who passed away from pediatric cancer. The foundation benefits pediatric cancer.”

The boy, who was a fellow musician and lead singer Alex Robin’s younger brother, is also the inspiration for the last song on Or, The Whale’s first record, Light Poles and Pines.

The close ties and dedication to authenticity has paid off. Or, The Whale recently toured nationwide, and is working on a follow up to Light Poles and Pines. Though the members are passionate about their work, their feet remain firmly on the boat deck.

“The reason we play music together is to be collaborative and share our music with each other,” Thomasson says. “We use it to get us through things, and we each have a deep respect for it.”

After a brief pause, Thomasson concertedly explains what allows Or, The Whale to stand out among thousands of other fish in the sea:

“It’s not ego based, it’s feeling based.”

With shows booked for months, an anticipated sophomore album and a debut available at Jackpot Records and through iTunes, Or, The Whale are well on their way to filling households and iPods everywhere with their gentle rock creations.

The music bends and permits itself to take unexpected routes. It feels, as the band surely intended, like seven voices telling a single story. Herman Melville would be proud.