Album Review: Rezn, Cycles in the Infinite Dream
Cycles in the Infinite Dream is the sixth standalone Rezn — also stylized all-caps: REZN — full-length in nine years, and since there hasn’t been word of a recorded-at-the-same-time follow-up, like when they put out Solace (review here) in 2023 and Burden (review here) in 2024, the nine-song/42-minute collection is also how they see themselves across the line of their first decade as a band. It’s been an adventure, to say the least, and throughout their now-six albums, the Chicago outfit have maintained a root stylistic statement — taking the generational penchant for heavy tones and lush melodies to a place of their own with pointedly textured arrangements of synth/keys, lap steel guitar, etc. — while continuing to try new ideas and angles of approach.
This remains true on the Greg Norman-produced Cycles in the Infinite Dream, which with shorter-on-average songs than on the aforementioned two prior LPs, feels in parts like it’s making a grounded turn while staying true to their signature ethereal float. The four-piece of guitarist/vocalist Rob McWilliams, bassist Phil Cangelosi (also rainstick), drummer Patrick Dunn and multi-instrumentalist Spencer Ouellette (synth/keys, lap steel, sax and flute) are still exploring, which is to say they still sound like they’re growing, and their tonal crush has yet to find so vivid a manifestation as it does here in pieces like “Cloudfall,” which was the album’s first single and the riff of which had me thinking Mastodon despite the song’s dreamy, lap-steel-infused finishing stretch, or side B leadoff “The Vessel,” which while also just over four minutes long, makes the chugging march of its verse soar in the chorus before it’s decidedly-less-dreamy slamming end.
Being heavier and more direct seems to have been an intention in the construction of the songs — perhaps they were thinking of playing live, which tends to lead in that direction because the shorter your songs are the more of them you can play in a set; the impression of directness is almost a byproduct — but whether it’s the result of a conscious choice on the part of the band or not, it allows Rezn to sound dynamic across the span of Cycles in the Infinite Dream, as the twists of opener “Rites of Passage” give over to a chug that would be a mosh part but for the sci-fi tale the synth weaves around it.
But whether you tag them as ‘doomgaze,’ in the parlance of our times, or progressive stoner metal, heavy psychedelia or even post-metal as the Isis-style central riff of “Transient” postulates, they remain one of the most identifiable acts of their generation. McWilliams‘ vocals are part of that, and the soul and emotionality in his voice comes more to the center mix-wise (Alex Farrar mixed, Zach Weeks mastered, Jacques de Beaufort did the cover art) on Cycles in the Infinite Dream than it has before, riding the volume swells of “Aerial Birth” and the penultimate “Primal Thread” — which just might be titled in honor of its bassline — and able to reside in the open space of a verse with an ease that would seem to have been wrought by maturity.
That maturity can also be seen in Rezn‘s seeking of balance throughout, and the low-key careful manner in which they employ their arrangements. Ouellette has always been crucial to the worldmaking side of their sound, so that’s nothing new, but the way the lap steel is employed across Cycles in the Infinite Dream, showing up at the end of “Cloudfall” almost as an afterthought that becomes a preface for the greater digging in of “Escher” on side B, which practically twangs in its own fog-psych way, carried along smoothly by Dunn‘s drumming. The crush as well leads Rezn into conversation with themselves here, and while I won’t say their sound is void of indulgence, that’s always been part of the point too, even as their refinement has brought them to this comparatively upfront place in terms of their delivery.
“The Vessel” might be superlative in terms of sheer heft — and with “Cloudfall” earlier and the ending of “Primal Thread” to follow, it might not; you can get out the scales if you want — but in terms of character, it is Rezn‘s own, and unmistakable for that. The difference is in how the band use the space they’re creating. That blowout saxophone solo in the first half of “Transient,” or the violin and cello — by Natalie Frakes and Ómkara Gil, respectively — that show up in the two-minute side A-capping interlude “Devotion” and return again in seven-and-a-half-minute album finale “Terra Preta,” are emblematic of a continued will toward expansive stylizations, but Cycles in the Infinite Dream manages to be mindful of these things without seeming hackneyed in the rollout.
This is to say that Rezn‘s growth as a band, while feeling intentional on their part, goes beyond the superficial, and even the fluidity that’s characterized their work for the last nine years has found a new shape over time (liquids take the shape of their container, so I’m not mixing metaphors here). But they seem to have learned from the stated crux of Solace and Burden, in terms of one being focused on the more meditative aspects of Rezn‘s sound, offering comfort, while the other took a more intense tack, and this material feels like a payoff and arrival point for that procession; bringing multiple sides together in material that is willfully cohesive even as it seems to melt the room around you.
The inevitable question is where Rezn go from here — is this a peak? — but that’s been consistent since the outset and the group have managed to evolve all the while without losing sight of their prior-noted core tenets. Cycles in the Infinite Dream is a sprawl, as it invariably would be, but what it encapsulates is ultimately a moving target, and it may be that a couple years from now what Rezn want to capture on a recording could change. I can’t and won’t predict, but if you’re someone who’s followed the band over the last nine-plus years or got on board between then and right now reading this sentence, it’s difficult not to think of it as a payoff for the band’s progression to this point. Dark at times but no less vibrant, and consuming, it is wholly realized.
