Album Review: Remembering Lou Reed’s “Coney Island Baby,” a Love Letter to New York

There is a kind of evening in New York when the city doesn’t feel like it’s swallowing you whole. The skyscrapers still tower over you, the lights still glare, the subways still rattle, but something gentler comes through; maybe it’s a warm summer breeze, the laughter echoing from a couple walking by, or the guy playing violin in the dirty subway station, eyes closed, somewhere else entirely. “Coney Island Baby” is Lou Reed’s version of that evening: unexpected warmth in a city (and an artist) known for its edge.

Released in 1976 after the disaster that was “Metal Machine Music,” Reed was reportedly living day to day in the Gramercy Park Hotel in a room paid for by his boss at RCA Records under the sole condition that he make a rock and roll record. That he did. The result was songwriting that moved into a more compassionate style and away from transvestites, junkies, and the poor characters that defined his earlier work to his own self. Though aspects of the “wild side” still come through on tracks like “Charley’s Girl” and “Nobody’s Business,” they are softer, more upbeat, with an airy quality that turns them into danceable tracks. The catchy cowbell and guitar work on “Charley’s Girl” are great; it’s easily one of Reed’s more underrated tracks. “Kicks” delves into drugs and death like many of Reed’s previous songs, but he uses a neat audio-tracking trick to make it more ominous than others, keeping the song listenable. If the album as a whole is an evening in New York, this song is where you can feel the tension building, like a moment out of Martin Scorsese’s “After Hours.”

The majority of this album consists of songs from Lou’s heart, not anyone else’s. “Crazy Feeling” and “She’s My Best Friend” are upbeat numbers that talk about universal experiences of love, yet they seem to be coming from himself rather than one of his characters. What brings the album all together is the title track “Coney Island Baby.” It’s the album’s emotional core and one of the most affecting songs in Reed’s entire catalog. It stretches out over nearly seven minutes, built on a simple groove and a monologue that drifts between memory, longing, and regret. “I wanted to play football for the coach,” Reed says, and as absurd as that sounds, it lands with a weight and truth to it. The song is unhurried, with a great baseline and guitar trills that keep the listener pleased. He’s speaking most of the lyrics rather than singing them, but that seems well suited, as if he is playing to a small crowd in the West Village at 2 a.m. Though this song is melancholy, he gathers hope: “When you’re all alone and lonely” or “in your midnight hour,” remember someone you love or have loved, whose love might just come shining through.

This isn’t Lou Reed in black leather, sneering in the spotlight. This is Lou Reed waiting for the F train, thinking about someone he used to love, humming a tune just loud enough for you to hear.

“Coney Island Baby” is New York after hours: softened, slowed, sentimental in a way that catches you off guard. It’s not the city you’re accustomed to seeing. It’s the one that finds you when you’re walking home, a little lost, and suddenly everything feels more alive than it should.

Grade: A-

Best Song: “Coney Island Baby”

Hidden Gem: “Charley’s Girl”

Best Lyric: The dedication at the end of “Coney Island Baby”

Emmett Leachman can be reached at eleachman@wesleyan.edu.