Few emerging artists are thinking quite as expansively as Eon ReZ. The Brooklyn-based artist, storyteller and U.S. Air Force veteran has spent 2026 constructing the ReZ Universe, an ambitious multimedia project where music intersects with cinematic storytelling, spoken word, speculative physics and an ever-growing fictional mythology.
His latest single ‘Unbreakable by Design’ brings that enormous creative vision down to something deeply human. Taken from second album 'The Resonance of Existence', the track combines blues-rock, soul and global instrumentation while exploring how adversity can gradually become the foundation of resilience. Guitars and soulful keys sit alongside brass, strings, sitar, bansuri flute and tabla, creating a suitably expansive backdrop for a song concerned with surviving life's most difficult season.
So with the new single out now, we sat down with him to find out more about his origins and what has been inspiring him most over the years.
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What was the first instrument you fell in love with?
The guitar. Which is slightly ironic, because I never actually became a guitar player. I don’t sing, I don’t read music, and I don’t play an instrument in the traditional sense. But guitar grabbed me early — especially that moment when it stops sounding like six strings and starts sounding like a human being trying to say something it can’t put into words. I think that stayed with me.
Today I build songs differently, but I’m still chasing that feeling. The saxophone became another love long ago, and lately Asian string instruments have been giving me entirely new directions to explore.
What kind of music did you love when you were younger?
Rock. Definitely rock. Classic rock, and I make no apologies. Zeppelin above all — there’s a track on The Resonance called “Looking In Through the Out Door,” and yeah, that’s a tip of the cap. Floyd, Sabbath, doo-wop from the neighborhood — it all found its way in.
I’m not terribly loyal to genres. I’m loyal to the signal. If it moves something in me, I’m listening. But that era also taught me that an album could be a world, not just a collection of songs. That idea sat in me for forty years before I finally built one.
What was the first album you remember owning?
Led Zeppelin II. What I remember even more than owning the record is the experience of albums back then. You didn’t skip through thirty seconds of fifteen songs. You put the record on, looked at the artwork, read everything on the sleeve and went somewhere for forty minutes. I still think in albums that way. A collection of songs should create a place.
What is the one song you wished you could have written yourself?
Strangely, I don’t think I have one. There are songs I hear and think, damn, that is brilliant. But I don’t wish I had written them. That song came through that person, at that moment, from their particular collection of scars, joy, experience and weirdness — and I get to share in it. To me, it’s all about the transmission of a frequency from one soul to another through sound. I’d rather find the song that could only have come through me. That’s kind of the whole ReZ philosophy: Live your signal. Respect everybody else’s.
Do you have any habits or rituals you go through when trying to write new music?
My ritual is curiosity. Usually something gets stuck in my head — a physics question, a human contradiction, something funny that happened forty years ago, a line I overheard, gravity, love, death, a subway ride, a photon... Then I start pulling the thread. I’m also a night creature creatively. Two, three, four in the morning can be very productive because the world finally shuts up. Once I hit a real flow, the idea starts telling me where it wants to go. I’ve described the ReZ formula as: Science + Math + Soul + Sound + Empathy + Kindness. When those things resonate together, the result behaves suspiciously like magic.
Some of those creative sessions have gone on for days. During one stretch, my wife staged a small intervention because, from the outside looking in, I’m pretty sure it appeared that I had lost my mind. Then came an album — and 100,000 YouTube subscribers in 53 days — which at least put a point on the madness. For about two and a half weeks, the work just poured out of me. Songs, ideas, stories, concepts — one after another. I look back at some of it now and barely remember how it happened. I wasn’t sitting down trying to “be creative.” I was trying to keep up.
Who are your favourite artists you have found yourself listening to at the moment?
My listening has become almost genre-less. Classic rock, hip-hop, reggae, lo-fi, Bollywood — wherever something interesting is happening, my ears tend to wander there. I can go from rock guitar to blues, reggae, soul, Indian instrumentation, jazz saxophone, orchestral music and electronic textures without feeling like I’ve changed stations. So these days I probably listen more for sounds and combinations than for any particular artist. I’m constantly searching for things that supposedly shouldn’t work together.
That’s probably why ReZ records can have electric guitar, horns, sitar, guzheng, harmonica, piano and a hip-hop beat all living in the same neighborhood. I’m less interested these days in asking, “What genre is this?” I ask: “Does it resonate?”
If you could open a show for anyone in the world, who would it be?
I’d almost rather open for an audience than an artist. Give me a room full of people who like rock but are also curious — people willing to hear a song about black holes, gravity, quantum fields or human connection and think, Okay... where the hell is this guy taking us? That’s my crowd. Although if somebody invents time travel and wants to put ReZ onto one of the great classic-rock bills, I’m definitely not turning down a gig with The Rolling Stones.
What do you find is the most rewarding part about being a musician?
Connection. Not streams. Not subscriber numbers. Not somebody telling me a track is clever. It’s when somebody halfway around the world hears something I made alone in Brooklyn and says, “I felt that.” Think about how strange and beautiful that is. A thought begins inside one human being, gets turned into words and vibration, crosses oceans at nearly the speed of light, enters another human nervous system — and somehow meaning survives the trip. That’s resonance. That’s the reward.
And what is the most frustrating part?
Getting people to stop trying to put everything into the correct little box. Musician. Writer. Producer. Scientist. Storyteller. Artist. AI. Human. Rock. Blues. Electronic. Serious. Funny. I’ve spent most of my life discovering that the interesting stuff happens between the boxes. So when somebody asks me exactly what ReZ is, the most accurate answer may be: Yes. That’s why I’m creating my own world with no boxes — a place where human resonance is the mission.
One night we saw a local production of Man of La Mancha, the story of Don Quixote. Something about that outsider chasing an impossible mission stuck with me, and I started thinking of ReZ as ReZ-ote — the cosmic Don Quixote. The outsider with a mission, occasionally tilting at universal windmills, but still riding toward whatever truth might be over the next hill. I stayed up until dawn that night writing the song “REZ-OTE.” The video was out the next week.
And what is the best piece of advice you have received as a musician?
I’m not sure the best advice came from a musician. The lesson life kept teaching me was: Trust your own signal, but keep listening. Confidence without curiosity becomes arrogance. Curiosity without confidence means you never release anything. You need both. Create the thing you believe should exist. Listen when intelligent people challenge it. Change it when they’re right. Stand your ground when they’re not. And don’t spend your life trying to become somebody else. There is already one of them. The world hasn’t had a you yet.
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Eon ReZ's new single 'Unbreakable by Design' is out now. Check it out in the player below.