"Lucy Gray" by Envy on the Coast

By Will James

William Wordsworth’s 1799 poem, “Lucy Gray,” is a gothic tale of an obedient child ordered to run an errand in the wilderness where she disappeared in a storm. It is a tale about the death of innocence – to some, a metaphor for growing up.

From one angle, Envy on the Coast’s 2007 release, “Lucy Gray,” chronicles the death of innocence in modern day Long Island. Each song is a story told in lead singer Ryan Hunter’s cunning metaphor, over the masterful instrumental backdrop of guitarist/keyboardist Sal Bossio, guitarist Bryan Byrne, drummer Dan Gluszak and bassist Jeremy Velardi.

But, even when the band attempts to narrate “grown up” issues of guilt, illness and death, they can’t escape their inexplicably “young” collective voice, which consistently cries out in the dramatic, overly-theatrical current vogue – the language of Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance, etc. For this reason, Envy might find themselves handcuffed to the rail of a passing cultural tend, forced to go down when the ship inevitably sinks. Or maybe even dismissed altogether as “fashion.”

That would be somewhat of a shame, considering the potential visible in the album’s first movement. “Sugar Skulls,” the album’s first single, narrates Hunter’s guilt surrounding a character paralleling Lucy Gray, herself, as expressed in the pre-chorus key line, “She’s just a little girl, she knows nothing of this little game we like to play.” “Artist and Repertoire” is perhaps a dramatic reenactment of buying into the entertainment industry – in both cases, someone’s innocence is at stake. Although the content and the aesthetic are nothing new, the composition is tricky enough to keep the audience interested and consistently surprised. While not quite unpredictable, intricacies like the complex lead guitar/synth weave behind “Sugar Skulls” and uncouth song-structures reminiscent of post-hardcore braininess stay one step ahead of the listener.

The best song on the album, “The Gift of Paralysis,” a fairly conventional but well-spoken tale of strength in the face of adversity, is an indication of the early album “front” provided by the first two tracks. Already, by track three, the balance between pop and experimentation is upset – as the album continues, the songs get heavier and more straightforward, more hook-dependent and less musically brainy. By track four, “Tell Them That She’s Not Scared,” the heartfelt narrative of a mother’s illness, the album settles into a steady “chug-chug” of quality pop songs minus the quirks that imbued the first ones with their intrigue.

The weird interlude, “(x) Amount of Truth,” succeeds in adding a “Nightmare Before Christmas” brand of darkness to “Lucy Gray.” It is an attempt to interrupt the pop formula of “first-tier songs followed by second-tier songs followed by third-tier songs,” but fails to make it a little more a “concept” and less a “list” of decreasing potency. Back to back slow-jams, “Starving Your Friends” and “Lapse,” both echo Something Corporate’s epic ballad, “Constantine,” with little effect, except emphasizing Ryan Hunter’s huge confidence as a vocalist and a songwriter.

Darker tracks like “Mirrors” and “…Because All Suffering is Sweet to Me…,” the late album rock-out (a neat reference to the last words of Saint Therese), are downright common and more than a little bit hackneyed. Songs like these seem to suggest that Envy on the Coast absorbed every single tested, successful pop/emo staple and integrated it perfectly into this album. This would be an amazing feat. But it helps propagate the vague sense that you’ve heard every hook – every little instrumental flare, pause, fill or trick – before.

Like most modern pop (with special exceptions like Modest Mouse aside), Envy on the Coasts’ brain is used only as a means to express the heart and channel the poetic wit. But in “If God Smokes Cheap Cigars” comes a lyrical surprise – a fairly fresh, creative expression of “the big questions” for a teenage generation. Lines like “’Cause we might as well be blind if seeing is believing,” and “I’ll start to worry when I’m dead,” sound like typical armchair philosophy, but express an actual conviction in the face of millennia-old ideology. “Vultures” attacks traditional morality with the same guile, with anthem-worthy lines like, “Let’s show them where the bad ones go.”

In the end, Hunter’s knack for massive payoffs, vocal melody and lyrical footwork make this album a success by marking every song with a distinct flavor in the head of the listener, and tying them thematically together. Innocence is being lost and worldviews are being shattered at every corner for young people these days, from the microscopic universe of daily drama to the revelations brought about in the face of illness and religion. “Lucy Gray” will inevitably mean something to some significant cross-section of young people in today’s culture. Disappointingly, it fails to speak in a new language.

But what does this album mean for Long Island? There are vary degrees – “classifications” – of greatness. Envy on the Coast will be great because they will be on the covers of magazines. They are young and supernaturally talented. They are charismatic and bright. But, at least in terms of “Lucy Gray,” they will not be great in the same way that Taking Back Sunday (their most oft-evoked comparison) are great. Meaning, they will not be legendary. Their musical talent may forbid them a rawness – a bite or a croon, or a sloppiness or quirkiness – that heralds the start of a sensation, or a lasting legend.

Track list:
1) Sugar Skulls
2) Artist and Repertoire
3) The Gift of Paralysis
4) Tell Them That She's Not Scared
5) (x) Amount of Truth
6) Vultures
7) Mirrors
8) If God Smokes Cheap Cigars
9) Starving Your Friends
10) Lapse
11) "...Because All Suffering is Sweet to Me..."
12) "I'm Breathing...Are You Breathing Too?"

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