What had made the preceding album, Tales from Topographic Oceans, so clunky was the inability to break Yes’ lengthy progressive-rock pastiche down into better, briefer chunks. They make it just as hard on Relayer, but at least the forty-minute, three-track assembly here, loosened after the departure of Rick Wakeman, makes for an interesting dive into sub-genre avenues of prog rock. Their shaky foundations and excess on their previous album are nowhere to be found, and while the sickly lyrical assertions, the whimsical drift into space without a tether connecting back to reality, are still here, it is limited. Relayer manages to relay an instrumentally sound and exciting experience where the prog tones are turned symphonic, and as a result, feels like a more rewarding listen for both artist and audience. Once more, the band dares to gauge a track where instrumental overlap is the key.
They fare a lot better here than they did on Fragile and Tales from Topographic Oceans. While the whimsy is not lost, they do manage to compartmentalise it and throw it further down the pecking order, instead opting for a mysterious appeal. The blinkered instrumentals, the fretwork which takes the spotlight at times on opener The Gates of Delirium, is a tremendous change. It is a thrilling song which makes the most of its length. Many Yes tracks around this period felt long for the sake of it. Those epics of ten to fifteen minutes, when they had only half that in quality, were difficult listens. But here is a jam-like experience where the instrumental sections complement each other, ebbing and flowing as they do with natural charm. Adapting the themes of War and Peace to song is another nutcase idea from at-the-time frontman Jon Anderson, but he and the band pull it off well, although the correlation between Leo Tolstoy and The Gates of Delerium is, in the end, nil.
The Gates of Delirium may be a welcome chance for Anderson to explore his interest in War and Peace, but the result is more a musing on modern warfare. Too cowardly to denounce it, too grossed out by the violence of it. A middle-of-the-road message. Still, it is a lot of fun. Narrative sensibilities are found, the lengthy instrumental breaks a rewarding step for both listener and band, but ultimately it is a strong statement of intent from a band who sounded as though they were never comfortable with their direction. And yet, for all that worth, it cannot escape the shadow of the rambunctious B-side starter, Sound Chaser. A far more thrilling experience, a volatile and tech-heavy sound which would catapult Yes into the modern day. That freeform edge is explored far better on the ten-minute tracks found on the B-side of Relayer than on its expansive opener.
Experimental prog rock in the latter half of the album is what makes Relayer such a thrill to return to. Higher strung thrills on To Be Over are equally as charming. The best change Yes ever made was removing both their lyrics and Wakeman from the lineup. The latter may have dropped from the band of his own volition, but the change in tone, the more mature edge to Yes with Relayer, could not have happened with Wakeman, talented as he is, as part of the group. What Relayer showcases is how Yes develops almost on the fly, with a free-form flow to their music a phenomenal indicator of what they could achieve when arbitrary limits and restrictions were removed.
