Review Summary: "Can you take me higher?" - Scott Stapp
Don’t let the captivating imagery of
Heaven Come Crashing’s album art distract you from how thematically significant it is. Ambient composer Rachika Nayar’s second full-length album is a soundtrack for moments much like these; a madcap dash through bumper to bumper traffic, nothing crossing your mind except the one you have to find and the words you have to say to one another. It’s a series of soundtracks for life’s most important moments, colored by Nayar’s signature elegiac guitar symphonies. This time, however, these compositions are accompanied by a healthy dose of electronic flourishes that echo the early days of M83, or even Vangelis’s
Blade Runner soundtrack at its most bombastic. Nayar ought to be commended for how expertly
Heaven Come Crashing toes the line between subtle and grandiose, and for how surreptitiously she manages to guide her arrangements from one space into another.
Dreamlike opener “Our Wretched Fantasy”, later recapitulated as “Our Wretched Fate”, demonstrates this ability in spades, as its amorphous buildup culminates in a breath of silence, only to conjure images of an endless rolling meadow within its final two minutes. All throughout the tracklist, countless examples crop up of intriguing initial ideas blossoming into maximalist instrumental triumphs within the blink of an eye. Consider the title track, whose breezy nighttime origins morph into a propulsive drum break out of nowhere, or the more patient “Nausea”, which opts to drag the listener through a series of foreboding twists and turns before pivoting into a dancier ending section. Nayar is also able to make this bait-and-switch game work on a smaller scale, trapping “Nausea’s” postlude “Promises” in a kind of emotional stasis where the tonic is constantly reached for, often a fingertip’s length away, but never reached.
Without a doubt, Nayar’s most blissful and impressive demonstration of these compositional skills is displayed on the titanic “Tetramorph”, a ten-minute, three-act astral projection that is not only the best song on
Heaven Come Crashing, but one of the best songs released by any artist this year. Disorientingly panned synths introduce the listener to a sunrise over an urban sprawl, followed by heavenly waves of swells and distant tremolo picking. This euphoric combination builds in intensity for four minutes before giving way to the album’s most aggressive section, marked by skittish hi-hats, glitchier electronics, and towering supersaws. Before this outburst can even be grasped onto, the storm has dissipated, and the song’s intro is stunningly revisited before an ambient guitar outro that is nothing shy of exhilarating.
Not every song can match the heights of those that have been mentioned, and Nayar is undoubtedly at her best when juxtaposing her proficiencies against one another. Songs like “Sleepless” or “Gayatri” cling tightly to one idea, and do that idea justice, but can’t quite reach the level of impact that pieces like “Tetramorph” or the title track ascend to. Over a 56-minute runtime, it may have also been a good idea to introduce more variances in tempo and mood throughout the tracklist, as some listeners may find that the album’s atmosphere wears a bit thinner as it progresses. Nevertheless,
Heaven Come Crashing is an undeniable success of an album, boasting one of the best songs of the year and plenty of other gems to boot. It’s a record for both the quietest and loudest moments of your life, and its ability to understand both of these mindsets is striking.
