When you try and call attention to a group called Band Marino, there’s little that can stop the inevitable association with the far-more recognizable name of Gnarls Barkley. Yet aside from the clever wordplay referencing our modern-day sports figures, very little common ground can be found between the likes of last year’s St. Elsewhere creators and this Orlando-based quintet. By comparison, if the synthesized, soul-driven sound of Cee-Lo Green and Danger Mouse is the representative equivalent of a loving, musical marriage, consider Band Marino’s vagabond minstrels the abandoned bastards of a passionate one-night stand.

Comprised of singer/songwriter Nathan Bond, multi-instrumentalist Jonathan Nee, bassists Abe Couch, guitarist Jesse Adams, and drummer Dylon York, this young indie-rock ensemble successfully project a traditionalist, folk culture influence within their debut effort, The Beast and the Sea. Underneath the tent of their own unique gypsy/carnival sound, the boys of Band Marino create an impression of doing something slightly stupid or illegal, but still manage to make you consider joining their nefarious activities. For example, on the standout track, “Every Time I Make a Girl Cry I Know I’ve Done My Job,” Bond playfully presents himself as a conscience-deprived good-for-nothing. But just as you can picture the empty bottles of alcohol fall over from his swaggering guitar strumming, for all his middle finger acknowledgements—cursing the food on his plate and the clothes on his back—the song itself is honest, giving it a level of likeability that sneaks by your better judgment.

Coming across as a sobering afterthought, “Feel It in the Air,” serves as an excellent, follow-up track. Rustic in its initial melody, with an acoustic guitar and banjo tethering it all together, it crosses into a slow-burning electric hook. Bond meanwhile sings his words as if in a trance. Lines such as “questions hang in side the air before us / We’ll take a day to understand” come through with a Thom Yorke warble. Eventually allowing the rest of the group an appropriate amount of room, it’s halfway through that the song finds its greater stride. No longer tip-toeing around its own sentimental ambiguity, the band stomps out its exit with a fitting guitar solo.

One of Band Marino’s best closing remarks come with the storytelling of “Arlee Hayes,” a “sad character” who unwisely chooses to sail to war and leave his love behind. As mandolins mingle with a trudging electric guitar, Bond’s fictional persona wrestles with an outcome he can’t avoid. The true tragedy of the song, however, occurs when Bond makes reference to the album’s title. Amidst the cowboy-western freak-outs, he points out that there is a beast waiting in the sea for Arlee Hayes. Intentional or not, Bond creates a symbol for the mistakes we wish we could take back; and we’re just hoping our ship doesn’t sink.

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