I don’t want to be pigeon-holed as cute,” says lalagray’s (sic) Ashley Myrick. Being unjustly, prematurely labeled as such is top on the singer’s list of concerns. It reveals an understandable self-awareness on her part, of how her music has a naturally lilting quality. Also, Myrick’s instrument of choice is the piano, and the piano, she accurately observes, is a “pretty instrument,” meaning careless listeners are prone to unfairly categorize her as harmlessly playful. But Myrick’s lightness tempts more than it placates. Myrick is preoccupied with a serious tension that she’s eager to confess. With the release of lalagray’s forthcoming debut album Devil’s Nest, Myrick hopes to do that and dispense with the cuteness notion from the start.

To my personal embarrassment, I failed to mention Ashley Myrick by name or her music by reputation in my piece on The Dallas Family Band. This was indicative of my carelessness, but also somewhat telling. Of the various musicians and bands that make up the Family Band co-op, Myrick may be the quietest of that community, and the peculiar elusiveness of her work is such that it tends to get overshadowed. I first saw her in a downtown coffee house, alone behind her slim, black Roland keyboard. No reputation preceded her, and Myrick is only now gaining one barely sizable to her talent. I recognized her tunes as compositions of unique quality, but it was equally obvious that a solitary keyboard was insufficient scaffolding for Myrick’s voice and vision.

Movies have taught me that, in prison, you should stab somebody on the first day to be taken seriously. Musicians, likewise, have their trade methods, from pitiable gimmicks to seriously frightening exploits ala Iggy Pop. I don’t think Myrick has much use for shivs or public relations or shattered bottles as evidence of her seriousness. Her songs and her stories testify on their own behalf, now studio-documented with refreshing boldness.

Devil’s Nest showcases lalagray’s songs in a way that her lone Roland never could. They are buoyed by an inventive parade of instruments and arrangements. None of her playful approachability is mitigated, but it now lands with a force appropriate to the gravity she wants so much to disclose. lalagray’s musical boundaries are drawn lightly. She admits a variety of sounds and cadences from a number of traditions. There is a compelling evolution of song present on Devil’s Nest, from plugged-in Roland to a fullness that resembles the aged upright piano Myrick used for the recording. The old life and wisdom of that instrument seems breathed into every note.

One reason lalagray fears being characterized as harmless is she so often dissertates on the theme of love. But she just as often commingles her loftier visions with the soberness of mortality and the hope of eternity. “Big Brown Box” is exemplary of this tension. In it, the coffin and the marriage altar are both juxtaposed under the weight of glory. Myrick loves love, but has heard of death. She wants to be happy, but she has to be dark, maybe just first, maybe concurrently. The circumstances of being demand nothing less. It’s a tightrope act she’s forced to walk; between the beauty and mutilation of love, the ugliness and loveliness of a soul straining higher than itself.

The unreleased Devil’s Nest is scheduled to make its appearance by early September, and it is sure to be welcomed among those keeping tabs on Dallas music. The album enlists an impressive local roster, from RTB2’s Ryan Thomas Becker to Beaten Sea bandmate Benj Pocta. In the meantime, lalagray promises to project the same boldness that appears on the album to a growing audience, stepping into a place of notability that’s as large as her advancing, evolving sound.