ReetoxA fundamentally disrupts our modern, fragmented listening habits with the release of “Soliloquy”, an epic double album that essentially demands to be swallowed whole. After thirty years of stockpiling thoughts, melodies, and regrets, frontman Jason McKee (operating as lead singer, music composer, and lyric writer) finally lets the dam burst. Birthed from pandemic isolation, this cinematic indie-rock sprawl pulls massive classical elements specifically a grand European Budapest orchestra into Melbourne’s gritty musical underground. It is an aggressive, beautiful invitation to lock your door, put on a decent pair of headphones, and actually sit still.
The album immediately swings a heavy, cynical pendulum into the grinding realities of art and aging. The self-titled track “Reetoxa” acts as a hard rock reality check built on a relentless riff, tracking the slow decay of youthful artistic arrogance into the stubborn, daily routine of just surviving to cover living expenses. The band is exceptionally good at hiding emotional payloads inside fast, upbeat vehicles. “Bottle” takes the brutal reality of relying on hidden chemical substances to force a state of calm and wraps it tightly in cathartic, anthemic pop-punk. You find yourself eagerly tapping your foot to complete psychological desperation. This driving tension owes everything to the thick, propulsive groove laid by Kit Riley on bass and Peter Marin on drums, while James Ryan rounds out the muscular energy as a core band member.
There are fleeting, frantic moments of messy romance and awkward nostalgia tucked away in the tracklist, too. “Dancing With Lou” accelerates on garage rock fumes, finding unfiltered joy in the tangible artifacts of a carefree youth. “The Lisa Song” brilliantly maps the paralyzing anxiety of being too close to a universally radiant person, manifesting a nervous flight-response as an infectious, driving indie-rock anthem. It is terribly awkward, highly vibrant, and entirely relatable.
When the distortion pedals click off, “Soliloquy” shifts into terrifyingly gorgeous terrain. “Gown” sinks into a hypnotic dream-pop progression, pulling the listener into the dizzying, toxic gravity of temptation beneath an echoing wash of vibrating harmonics. Then comes the devastating cinematic scope of “Timor Leste.” This track navigates the brutal mechanical destruction of military conflict through deep rhythmic pulses and soaring orchestrations, only to abruptly hollow out, leaving you entirely alone with a solitary, fragile melody. It leaves a bruise.
McKee’s songwriting often borders on masochistic in its honesty, and the meticulous mixing by producer Simon Moro ensures every single frayed nerve is clearly audible. Terry Hart provides a crucial structural anchor on the piano, guiding the tone when the arrangements drop from furious noise down to tender reflection. Meanwhile, Jessica McPherson-Riley’s back-up vocals inject vital layers of urgent warmth into the dense atmosphere, making the claustrophobia of tracks like “Schitzo Waltz” and the bitter victimhood of “Purple Vein” feel slightly less suffocating.
Late in the emotional endurance test, the band drops “Wake Up Lucy,” a violently sad exploration of being separated from a child. Bizarrely, they pair this crushing grief with an upbeat, fast-paced alternative rock momentum. The jarring contrast is nauseatingly brilliant. Thankfully, the album refuses to abandon you in the dark. “Alright” acts as a breezy surf-pop mental palate cleanser, shaking off the stagnation to offer a bright, twangy jolt of sheer clarity.
We rarely allow a full-length record to possess us anymore, letting someone else’s complex mess of joy and panic completely rearrange our afternoon. Once the final orchestral swells fade and you finally pry your headphones off, a lingering strangeness hangs in the air. Are you exhausted by the sprawling weight of Reetoxa’s life experiences, or simply unnerved by how perfectly they manage to expose your own?
