Reetoxa’s Soliloquy isn’t trying to be consumed casually. It asks for time, attention, and a bit of patience—and in return, it offers something that feels unusually personal for a project of this scale. Built as a double album, it carries the weight of years behind it. You can hear that history in the writing. These aren’t songs pulled together in a short burst—they feel lived in, shaped over time, revisited, and pushed further. There’s a restless energy running through the record, like Jason McKee wasn’t interested in settling for anything half-finished. The sound leans into that ambition. Bringing in a European orchestra across parts of the album adds a sense of scale that pushes the music beyond a standard rock setup. When those arrangements open up, they don’t just decorate the songs—they stretch them, giving certain moments a cinematic pull that contrasts with the more stripped-back sections. It creates a push and pull between intimacy and something much larger.
Tracks like Insatiable, Bottle, and Josephine carry a raw, unfiltered edge, while others drift into more reflective territory. There’s no single lane the album stays in. Instead, it moves through different moods and ideas, sometimes sharply, sometimes gradually. That unpredictability works in its favor—it keeps the listener engaged, never fully sure where the next turn will land.
What stands out most is the emotional range. Soliloquy doesn’t narrow itself to one theme. It leans into everything—obsession, regret, love, self-doubt, and moments of clarity that cut through the noise. The writing often feels like a stream of thought rather than something overly structured, which gives the album a certain honesty. It’s messy at times, but intentionally so. There’s also a sense of pressure behind the project. Knowing it came together during isolation, and that it pushed its creator to the edge, adds context to how intense some of these moments feel. It’s not polished into something easy—it keeps its rough edges, and that tension runs through the entire record. Soliloquy feels like a throwback to when albums were meant to be experienced in full rather than picked apart track by track. It asks you to sit with it, to follow the shifts, and to take in the details as they unfold. It’s not lightweight listening, but that’s exactly the point.
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