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If I could sum up Band Marino in two words it would be these: Band Marino. The phrase first implies ridiculousness, leading you into the same skeptical laugh you gave "Gnarls Barkley." But sooner or later, you'll realize the name (or at least the namesake) is something of sheer brilliance. Similarly, the must-watch Orlando band rocks with other layers of duplicitous brilliance: carousing gypsy melodies hooking into a swirling folksy bent, energetic dance-alongs crashing over simple, subtle ballads... And while their debut The Sea and The Beast unleashes with a recklessness comparable only to Ahab himself, the treasure beneath the tunes is perhaps some of the most careful storytelling and songwriting of our time.
You might not understand if your first listen was the tiresomely titled "Como Se Dice Seņorita Act 1: The Layman's Lament," where the word "quesadilla" makes its appearance about ten seconds into the song. But even within the most outlandish romps, lyrics reveal these picaroons can be darker than they seem. Between manic fiddlin' and wailing melodies, "Como Se Dice" hastily slips hints of waiting and heartbreak. "Every Time I Make A Girl Cry I Know I've Done My Job" bounces confidently, casually numb, cursing, I'm not grateful for anything that I have. Not the food on my plate, not the clothes on my back. ... Not the upper-middle class life that I know.
But all duplicity and denial jump ship in "Feel It In The Air," which is much more straightforward in baring the band's vulnerability. The oblique moans of guitar and vocals ring like Radiohead with their melancholic desperation. Songs like "I Have A Dream" make it clear that these guys are no landlubbers when it comes to fast and furious, either. Conjecture stands on belvederes, screams come one come all and hear, the song spits suggesting a bit of cynical social commentary. Destined to take, to spend, to die. I've got a dream so follow me. On other tracks, the band's twangy side more familiarly backs a narrative know-how that would threaten the Decemberists. One such saga, "Arlee Hayes," the tale of a young man who finds his "own decay" when he leaves his love to go to war, could be dolefully sung between pitchers of ale behind the doors of a saloon.
Frontman Nathan Bond readily admits that the lyrics he writes are often "more fantastic ideas of things I experience...a narrative for something that at its heart is truly about something I've been through," inviting us to question what kind of backstabbing and misery he must have been shot with to create songs so bitter and yet hauntingly blithe. But make no mistake; there is nothing pedestrian or--dare I say it--emo about this. Play through the intricate tides of circusy melodies and seasick harmonies and mandolin and banjo wars and sigh-filled chronicles and you'll find yourself engulfed.
The Sea and The Beast is actually over a year old, which leaves me eagerly wondering how much farther this band could have grown in the last year, but it doesn't hit indie record stores nationwide until March 4th. Noted as "the king of Orlando's indie-rock scene" by the Orlando Sentinel and one of Rolling Stone's best bands on MySpace, you can be sure that the seadogs of Band Marino aren't about to sink.