Relayer (1974)
1. The Gates of Delerium
2. Sound Chaser
3. To Be Over
In the wake of the sprawling and divisive Tales from Topographic Oceans, Yes faced a problem of their own making. That previous double album had been so overstuffed, so self-indulgent, that many listeners simply lost patience. For years afterward, any conversation about the band's “glory years” tended to stop short right before it. And when Relayer landed less than twelve months later, there were plenty still recovering from the aftertaste. Even the track list did little to reassure the cautious: three songs total—better than four on a double albm, but not exactly a return to concise songwriting.
That’s a pity, because buried within Relayer is some of the most impressive material Yes ever produced. Side one belongs entirely to The Gates of Delirium, a 22-minute epic that stands among their finest achievements. How do you describe such a piece? The simplest way is just to say: it works. Structured like a three-part suite, it offers a kind of musical narrative of battle and resolution. The opening is charged with tension, the middle erupts in a furious instrumental onslaught—a showcase of the band's technical bravado—and the final segment, famously released as the single Soon, is pure melodic balm. Jon Anderson’s voice soars, Rick Wakeman's replacement Patrick Moraz fills the soundscape with sweeping keyboards, and Steve Howe delivers one of his most lyrical guitar lines. It’s the sound of a band finding its focus again.
Unfortunately, side two is more uneven. Sound Chaser kicks things off with nine and a half minutes of what can only be described as experimental jazz-rock chaos. Some might call it adventurous; others, unlistenable. The playing is, predictably, immaculate—Yes were always virtuosos—but the piece feels like a band showing off rather than composing. The frantic jazz-fusion breaks and Howe’s wild guitar runs are impressive in isolation, but the whole thing never quite gels. Instead, it becomes abrasive and exhausting—a textbook case of technique overshadowing substance.
The final track, To Be Over, is more of a mixed affair. Much of it drifts along pleasantly without leaving much of a mark. Yet the closing minutes redeem it beautifully. Howe layers shimmering, almost celestial guitar lines—some of them seemingly indebted to Eastern tonalities—while Anderson’s vocals float above the arrangement with serene grace. It’s a haunting, meditative finale that suggests what the entire piece might have been with more disciplined writing. One almost wishes those last few minutes had been expanded into their own, fully realized song rather than buried at the end.
Also worth noting is the lineup shuffle behind the scenes. With Rick Wakeman having stormed off after Tales from Topographic Oceans (hardly surprising), Swiss keyboardist Patrick Moraz steps in. He’s more than capable—his playing on The Gates of Delirium is often thrilling—but his time in the band would prove short-lived. By the next album, Wakeman would be back in the fold, and Moraz relegated to a fascinating but brief footnote in the long saga of Yes personnel changes.
Relayer is a complicated record to assess. It’s clearly a reaction to the excesses of its predecessor, but it doesn’t entirely escape them. It’s ambitious, often brilliant, and occasionally frustrating. But for those willing to navigate its peaks and valleys, there’s no denying that Yes managed to claw back some of the credibility they’d nearly squandered—and in The Gates of Delirium, they delivered one of the great progressive rock statements of the era.
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