Milo Greene is not a real person. He is a fictitious manager/booking agent that three struggling musicians and college classmates created to help effectively promote their individual endeavors. Those three friends were Andrew Heringer, Robbie Arnett and Marlana Sheetz, and years later, when the three-piece finally decided to write music together, they found it appropriate to pay tribute to the man (albeit fake) who helped them through their college years. And thus, Milo Greene (the band) was born.

The threesome migrated down south to Los Angeles and recruited two more members (Graham Fink and Curtis Marrero), and as a five-piece began to record demos in their new home in the hipster enclave of Silver Lake. It didn’t take long for fellow Angelinos to catch on to the infectious indie folk the quintet created, and thus, the band’s fan base healthily grew.

That being said, Milo Greene is still a band that just released its debut full-length album, yet does not act like it’s still in its infant stages. The dreamy folk outfit recently performed its first single, “1957,” on The Late Show With David Letterman, scored a spot on next weekend’s Lollapalooza lineup and is gearing up for an extensive headlining tour this fall.

The indie-folk crooners even recorded their album like pros, and trekked up north to Seattle to record at Bear Creek Studios with Ryan Hadlock (The Lumineers). With a fellow folk mastermind at the helm, Milo Greene’s self-titled debut is tight, precise, and full. Led by the intoxicating vocals of Sheetz and Arnett, each track is driven by male/female vocal harmonizing as guitars, percussion, bass, piano, and even violin and horns quietly guide the song along, with standouts like “Don’t You Give Up On Me,” “Silent Way,” and of course, “1957,” paving the way for the rest of the album.

However, as mature as the band may seem, this is still a freshman effort. Though the songs sound beautiful, they jumble together and become repetitious. Each track seems to follow the same formula, and by the time the last song plays, you could have sworn you already heard it. The five-piece takes a stab at experimentation with four short, instrumental interludes, but their purpose is lost and they sound superfluous.

Milo Greene possesses heaps of potential, but if it wants to stand out, it needs to find its personal spark and light up its tracks so they all hold their own unique personalities, like that of their namesake, the poised and dignified musical entrepreneur that started it all.