Few traits are valued higher than versatility for modern musicians. The industry is changing constantly, and artists seem to be struggling to keep up with an ever morphing landscape. For Orion Ohana, change seems to be instinctual. Born to a pair of DJs, the Oakland native’s first concerts were the raves that his parents brought him to, take-your-son-to-work style.
“They wanted to keep [DJing] and throw events but they also had a son now. So at six months old they had a doggy bed where they would sit me down behind the speakers. I got the name house pet from that,” Ohana tells me on FaceTime.
The nickname would later evolve into his first artist alias. housepett, the first and perhaps lesser known character in Ohana’s cinematic world, was a strictly production persona.Ohana didn’t intend pursue the family jungle legacy, nor did he fall into any specific genre – housepett was a collection of the collaborations with his friends as he trapezed around the Oakland music scene.
“When I was producing for other people, I was still trying to fit in in a certain sense. With art and school, you try to fit in in a way even if you think you’re not. I never fully fit into any of the categories.”
Ohana’s teenage years were largely typical. He spent a good amount of his time on the internet, making music with friends, drawing, and getting into good natured teenage hijinks. One notable incident, he recalls, being when he was made to write an essay on breast cancer as a punishment for drawing large breasted women on school desks.
“In an alternate timeline I would’ve been a full Deviantart kid type shit. Before music, I wanted to be a manga artist,” he tells me. His passion for “big tiddie hentai girls,” among other artistic pursuits, drew the attention of rapper DiamondsOnMyDick.
In 2016, DOMD founded Reptilian Club Boyz, a rap collective that produced names like Hi-C and Cartier God. That same year, when Ohana was 16, DOMD reached out for cover art and video editing work.
Some time later, Ohana began designing merch for the group, which he sold at his high school. When Diamonds found out, he asked for a profit margin, which Ohana refused to give since he was not being paid for his designs.
“I [was] selling it at my high school to people who don’t know about us at all, these are sales [DOMD] wouldn’t get otherwise. I’m not gonna make free art that you can profit 100% on. He just flipped out on me and went complete psychopath mode. I blocked him and he flipped the fuck out and went on his cousin’s account and was like ‘I hope your fucking eyes fall out, I hope your mom dies’. I’m like 16 and this dude is 27.”
“It quickly became very strange,” he tells me. Though DOMD allegedly made threats toward him and other members of the group multiple times, the group stayed together for another 7 years. Despite the constant conflict within the group, mainly surrounding DOMD himself, Ohana credits him with having connected various like minded artists.
“It’s terrible but it’s also weirdly respectable cause it’s exactly what’s portrayed in music of the whole vampire shit. [DOMD is] one of the few artists where they’re like ‘I’m a vampire’ and they’re actually a fucking vampire. They surrounded themselves with the most genuine talented people and used them as a shield for his own shortcomings and piece of shit character and just drained everyone else’s swag.”
Ohana has never fully talked about his involvement with the group, partly due to the somewhat volatile RCB fanbase.
“It’s insane! [RCB] used to give me so much anxiety,” he tells me. Almost 4 years after the group disbanded, the RCB subreddit is active, but nothing compared to the intensity of fans in their heyday.
“I had people track down my mom,” he adds. “They’re fucking insane. They’re all very angry. It’s all extremely toxic.”
Housepett died, or at least petered off, as RCB dissolved. Though one character’s story was coming to an end, Ohana’s story never did. It was 2020, peak COVID times, and Ohana found himself in a cramped apartment with several friends, bandmates, and an industrial quantity of ecstasy. Surrounded by uppers and other artists, Ohana threw himself head first into creating a new sound.
“It was the most crazy, euphoric, one of the most prolific times in my life,” he recalls. Once they ran through the stock, Ohana recalls going through “the most physical, fucked-up depression. I don’t know how I don’t have permanent serotonin syndrome.”
In this haze, Evanora:Unlimited was born. Ohana’s most popular persona to date, Evanora is more than just a character. Ohana describes it as an intricate world made for performance, with a sonic facet as hard to concisely describe as the project – Evanora cycles from nihilistic ballads with soft guitar accompaniment to borderline hardstyle slut techno. The project quickly gained a cult following, propelled further into critical acclaim after collaborations with artists like Ecco2k.
Overwhelmed with the reception, Ohana created Marjorie W.C. Sinclair as a private project for the music he made with friends. Months after the first releases under Marjorie’s name – a title created by a name generator to be as obscure as possible – the project garnered attention from listeners again.
As his projects gained more traction, Ohana dove headfirst into touring life around the US. As soon as the financials made sense, he put all of his belongings in storage and took off to Europe for a self-organized marathon of shows.
“I wanted to just see the world as much as possible. I didn’t even give a fuck about making money off the shows, let me just see a new country. 200 dollars, I gotta sleep on some floor? Fuck it, let’s go.”
Waking up in a new country every few days with non-stop gigs took its toll. “It’s not super sustainable,” Ohana admits. Eventually, he made his way back to Oakland to live with a friend, but that didn’t stick long either. After a while, Ohana decided to leave for Europe for good.
“This time I didn’t put anything in storage, I just sold all of my belongings. I sold every single thing that I owned and I just went to Europe with a single backpack and suitcase. I’ve been living there since.”
These days, Evanora is Ohana’s main focus, and he’s settled down enough to finally have a permanent address in Germany. As he was going through the process to obtain his artist’s visa, Ohana picked up some German on Duolingo, but quit as soon as the paperwork went through.
“I’ve gotten to the point where I can function. Other than that, I stopped instantly because it’s generally not a language I have a whole lot of interest or passion [for]. I know one German. Everyone else I’m friends with either speaks Polish, Ukrainian, Russian, or English. I started learning Polish instead.”
Poland was Ohana’s first choice for European living. “I see Warsaw almost as a second home. It’s strangely a European Oakland. I don’t know how to explain it, but I really like it there and I like all the people there.”
Ohana is still fond of Germany, and admits it’s an ideal place for an artist like him. In his own words: “I love [Berlin], it’s weirdly trappin. There’s very good access to nature and all types of weird little activities you can get into.”
His personal life may be a bit quieter now, but his artistic endeavors don’t seem to ever stop. While juggling three musical projects (and perhaps a secret fourth), Ohana dabbles in clothing design with intricate and personalized merchandise as well spends the rest of his time roaming through Poland, recording his adventures for his music videos.
His penchant for variety seems to seep into his personal music taste as well. Ohana has one playlist posted to the Evanora:Unlimited Spotify artist account.
“It’s literally my personal playlist,” he says. “I add everything to a single playlist; it’s also kinda fun because I can look back at it as a direct timeline of what I was listening to at different points.”
There is one thing he won’t listen to.
“[Hyperpop] is the only thing I don’t fuck with. That’s a complicated thing because I feel like the term hyperpop is just a spotify term that they throw at anything that’s experimental pop. There’s some people that I’ll give them their credit, and I fuck with them. Generally, I think it’s an extremely suspicious genre.”
For all the blood and gore that Evanora:Unlimited covers himself with at shows, Orion Ohana is an enthusiastically friendly person.
“I think people expect me to be fucking insane. A lot of people assume I’m fully what I portray. At shows I have scars all over my face and I’m covered in blood. I’m a chill guy.”
I can’t disagree. The first time we met at a show at Market Hotel, Ohana was surprisingly subdued after a typically unhinged performance as Evanora:Unlimited. He shook my hand and told me his real name, and he said he loves those interactions with other people.
“I never want to be that person that’s too good to talk. We’re all worthless humans at the end of the day.”
Perhaps that’s selling himself short, because at the very least Ohana is a few dozen (worthless?) humans sewn into one body.
