#rachika nayar

[kurulover]

MUSIC YOU CAN BREATH

[album-a-day-project]

My 2022 Albums Of The Year

Here are my top albums of the year:

The Smile, A Light for Attracting Attention

Rachika Nayar, Heaven Come Crashing

Perfume Genius, Ugly Season

Sharon Van Etten, We’ve Been Going About This All Wrong

Astrid Sonne, Ephemeral camera feed

Nilüfer Yanya, PAINLESS

Soul Glo, Diaspora Problems

Weyes Blood, And In The Darkness, Heart Aglow

Leikeli47, Shape Up

Harry Styles, Harry's House

Grace Ives, Janky Star

yeule, Glitch Princess

Burial, Streetlands EP

Action Bronson, Cocodrillo Turbo

Hagop Tchaparian, Bolts

Beach House, Once Twice Melody

Oso Oso, Sore Thumb

Father John Misty, Chloë and the Next 20th Century

Taylor Swift, Midnights

Ithaca, They Fear Us

Rolo Tomassi, Where Myth Becomes Memory

FKA Twigs, CAPRISONGS

Amber Mark, Three Dimensions Deep

GIFT, Momentary Presence

Daniela Lalita, Trececerotres

[knightofleo]

Rachika Nayar | A Burning Plain

[etrangersvoyageant]

Rachika Nayar Photographer Parcifal

[kentuckyanarchist]

Songs of 2022

Year-end lists always seem doomed to become outdated. Am I really expected to have heard all the best songs of 2022 in 2022? It’s never going to work, they’ll seep through over the course of the following year or years. But giving it six weeks is better than nothing, so here we are in mid-late February.

1. Tomberlin, “Stoned”.

Stoned indeed: woozy, baffled, bodily undone.

2. Camp Cope, “Running with the Hurricane”.

Camp Cope perfected a bassy, blunt melancholy with How to Socialise & Make Friends; here they don’t so much break from that template as turn it to other—affirmative? aggressive?—purposes.

3. Caroline, “Good Morning (Red)”.

The year’s most something-new-on-every-listen song, its most capacious.

4. Christian Lee Hutson, “Age Difference”.

Lyric of the year: “Do my impression of John Malkovich critiquing food in prison / At first it isn’t funny, then it is, and then it isn’t.”

5. Big Thief, “Change”.

A panoply of possibilities on such a sprawling, immersive album by the absolute best in the game, but this most plaintive and stubborn lament just edges the rest.

6. Rachika Nayar ft. Maria BC, “Heaven Come Crashing”.

Sounds for the silentest disco.

7. The A’s, “Why I’m Grieving”.

A path not taken from an archive not delved-into; a peppy sad spurt of jolly heartbreak.

8. Black Country, New Road, “Snow Globes”.

I’m still not sure if this song’s about going mad, getting old, living through winter, all three, or none.

9. Arctic Monkeys, “Body Paint”.

Searching, insistent: like Alex Turner’s got you caught in a lie.

10. Stella Donnelly, “Cold”.

This could’ve been any of Stella Donnelly’s songs where the lilt of her voice is always dropping into conversationality, but this one, where she ends the conversation, full-stop, shuts me up the most.

11. Martha, “Irreversible Motion”.

So many of these songs are about little things, like the bones of the inner ear; this one maybe more than all the others.

12. Florist, “Red Bird Pt. 2 (Morning)”.

A delicate retrospective collage, a slow bashful loving appreciation, a puzzled amazed asking-why, a cautious comfort.

13. Aldous Harding, “Fever”.

Aldous Harding’s songs have this wonderful, dignified refusal to cohere; this one just lopes, or loafs, in and out of view.

14. Meg Baird, “Will You Follow Me Home?”.

The way Meg Baird’s vocals stay half-submerged here is what gets me: “Will You Follow Me Home?” goes from lazy river to maelstrom without you quite noticing.

15. Brian Eno, “Making Gardens Out of Silence”.

If you ask me, “Making Gardens Out of Silence” is a panorama from the time after humans, built from salvage by whatever-comes-next.

16. Hurray for the Riff Raff, “SAGA”.

A lot of these songs express a specifically 2022 kind of bafflement. “SAGA” doesn’t know how to get past this condition either, but it’s pushing against the boundaries.

17. Lana Del Rey, “Watercolor Eyes”.

You think you know someone’s schtick, but they surprise you.

18. Black Belt Eagle Scout, “My Blood Runs Through This Land".

Alternating between wordlessness and breathlessness, either way keeping on building to something.

19. Jake Xerxes Fussell, “Love Farewell”.

Stoic and stolid, Jake Xerxes Fussell bets on metaphor but could’ve made do with just rumble, growl and twinkle.

20. Ezra Furman, “Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club”.

Secret-telling in movie-theatre darkness.

21. Let’s Eat Grandma, “Happy New Year”.

Let’s Eat Grandma have the saddest synths but this one’s rose-coloured.

22. Joshua Burnside, “Louis Mercier”.

Time-travel klezmer-pop that jostles you like a cobbled towpath.

23. Beth Orton, “Weather Alive”.

When talking songs become singing songs so sylphlike and effortless.

24. Sault, “Life We Rent but Love Is Free”.

Sounds like certain small parts of London, for certain small moments, on busy summer days in the past.

25. Bill Callahan, “Coyotes”.

One for slickrock and sagebrush, which are not without their romance.

26. Yard Act, “Tall Poppies”.

A self-consciously small story, a kitchen-sink drama, a talking head, no denouément.

27. Angel Olsen, “All the Good Times”.

A rhinestone widescreen production, a road movie on a soundstage.

28. Beach House, “Hurts to Love”.

Generationally speaking, the ending of Skins series 1 still packs a fair bit of a punch, so rewriting “Wild World” by Cat Stevens makes more sense than you’d think.

29. The 1975, “The 1975”.

Imagine taking “All My Friends” and making it about your cock and it’s still good; that takes rare talent.

30. Craig Finn, “Birthdays”.

Comforting because it really is nice to know there’s someone in this world who’s always known you, and comforting because it’s Craig Finn doing Craig Finn stuff with his big dumb Craig Finn voice.

31. Julia Jacklin, “Lydia Wears a Cross”.

A bodily song: knees, eyes, clothes, adornments.

32. Anaïs Mitchell, “On Your Way (Felix Song)”.

You get the sense Anaïs Mitchell finds nothing all that difficult—eulogising, philosophising, doing justice to a life, picking out the pithiest reminiscences, in just under three minutes she bowls it all over.

33. Billy Woods, “Pollo Rico”.

Intrusive thoughts, compulsion to repeat. A personal history of madness.

34. Bright Eyes, “Arc of Time (Time Code) (Companion Version)”.

This year Bright Eyes re-recorded some of the songs from the 2000s I love/hate the most. “Arc of Time” gets remade without the beats or the keys, but stays smart and wry and death stays on its mind. 

35. Fred again.., “Berwyn (all that i got is you)”.

Fred again..’s songs are urban explorations, entries to London’s subterrene.

36. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Spitting Off the Edge of the World”.

Cosmic.

37. The Big Moon, “Ladye Bay”.

Supersized, tectonic.

38. Drive-By Truckers, “The Driver”.

Grimy, grunting noir.

39. Ethel Cain, “American Teenager”.

D. H. Lawrence would’ve liked Ethel Cain and her Great American Hauntedness.

40. Girlpool, “Butterfly Bulletholes”.

Such a shame to lose Girlpool in 2022 but they were four or five bands in just two people, they gave us a lot.

41. The Beths, “Expert in a Dying Field”.

This one speaks for itself.

42. Nilüfer Yanya, “Shameless”.

Breathless, almost somehow fleshless, rattling ribcage xylophone.

43. Mesadorm, “Soap Opera”.

Skew-whiff boiler-hiss robot pop.

44. Porridge Radio, “Back to the Radio”.

Porridge Radio’s skills are in cacophony, cataclysm, crisis, ruination, disaster mismanagement.

45. Wet Leg, “Too Late Now”.

Every introspection needs a wise-crack or two.

46. Wilco, “Tired of Taking It Out on You”.

Aged 29, I had chickenpox recently; I recovered but it’s made looking in the mirror interesting, all these new small markings on the same face.

47. Plains, “Hurricane”.

The lyrics to “Hurricane” read like an apology, but Katie Crutchfield’s voice always sounds a little barbed to me; that’s what makes this work, I think.

48. Daniel Avery, “Higher”.

Frenetic travel in place.

49. Kevin Morby, “Bittersweet, TN”.

Kevin Morby hits all the requirements, he straight-A’s being a country singer.

50. Beabadoobee, “You’re Here That’s the Thing”.

In 2023 I resolve to continue to love silly rhymes, campfire rhythms, dewdrops and holding hands.

[coversart]

Rachika Nayar - Heaven Come Crashing, (2022).

[housewarningparty]

stream/purchase

[thesinglesjukebox]

RACHIKA NAYAR - "HAWTHORN"

It's rare for us to cover instrumental songs, but Nortey is making sure our bases are covered...

[7.38]

Nortey Dowuona: The first seconds of "Hawthorn" are looped guitar. They keep spinning in the back, a solid place to step on for the listener, just waiting for the song to begin, and slightly slipping beneath the newly added guitar and synthesizers, lush and full playing in a loop as well, then building and growing, smothering all other sounds beneath them. Meanwhile, the looped riff just keeps swirling in the left hand channel, waiting for the rest of the song to dissipate -- before it is immediately cut off. [10]

Ian Mathers: I liked the idea of Nayar's Heaven Come Crashing LP more than I actually wound up playing it, but what "Hawthorn" suggests is: A. I should give it another try B. maybe I like Nayar better at miniature length C. It's time for Caribou's Up in Flames (originally released when he went by Manitoba) to get another revival D. All of the above. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The best parts of Heaven Come Crashing were explosions of sound -- the breakbeat shattering the ambient guitars and vocals of that album's title track, the way drones and percussion creep in and envelop "Tetramorph" over the course of nine minutes. "Hawthorn" is too neat of a fragment to have quite that impact, but as Nayar brings in layer after layer of guitar she reaches some alternate catharsis -- less a breakthrough and more a resolution, everything in its right place for just a brief moment of grace. [7]

Kat Stevens: Very pleasant! A bit like when Karl H manages to persuade Rick S to let him do some guitar noodling in the middle of an Underworld album. [6]

Michael Hong: Gorgeous and glassy, yet I keep waiting, not for it to go somewhere, but for it to settle into stillness. [6]

Will Adams: The loops, the ascending chord progression, the build-up paced like a rising sun: I was surprised to learn that "Hawthorn" was released as a standalone single and not the intro of a longer body of work. But those intros are works unto themselves, too, and gorgeous is still gorgeous in isolation. [7]

Leah Isobel: My favorite Kate Bush song is "A Coral Room," for its drifty musical simplicity and complex emotional tenor, slipping gently between images and passages and memories. The question the whole song hinges on -- "What do you feel?" -- is both plainspoken and vast, impossible to answer. To write words on a page or musical notes in a sequence is to reach into the water and see what it's like. How does it feel? How does it feel? How does it feel? Earlier this year, I wrote about Vines' Birthday Party, a relatively experimental record for my listening habits; I spent weeks listening to it again and again in different settings, trying to come to a conclusion, pushing for an idea. I still think it eluded me, that I didn't have the capacity to get my hands around it. And yet it's slipped into my favorite records of the year, maybe because it's an outlier. I spent most of my formative years listening to either pop music or Pitchfork-approved indie rock, in the turn-of-the-decade boom times. That music worked to be articulated and likable because there was money to be made in it. Now, of course, everything is contracted. As a sometimes writer and occasional musician, I have (mostly) made peace with the fact that my art will not sustain me economically. I don't even know if I'd want it to. A music made to be monetized probably wouldn't hold what I'd need it to hold. In 2021, when I was living in New York, I met Rachika not at a show or via an interview, but through her day job as an electrolysis technician. She played incredible music while she worked. I didn't know that she was a musician herself until she told me about a show she was playing -- not as an invitation, just as idle chatter. I didn't go. Then I moved away, and then I found out that her music was incredible too. A cross-country move, two lost friendships, a new relationship, a new job, new and unformed ideas and fears and hopes: my context for "Hawthorn," inseparable from how it feels to me. The song curls upwards out of a maybe-sample, maybe-guitar, maybe-synth pulse; I'm stuck on the high plink that opens and closes the phrase, keeps the time, remains somehow unreachable. When the guitars and bass come in, folding and lacing around each other, that plink still sticks out, like the composition is either pulled in its wake or pushing towards the sound. It could be a radio transmitter or a metronome or a distant star, blinking, turning. It's corny to say but it pulls me, too -- whatever it is I'm searching for, however time reveals it or I distort it with my own insistence on rationalizing or controlling myself. I reach my hand into the water. What do I feel? What do I feel? What do I feel? [7]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Catchy loops and post rock guitar that doesn't overstay it's welcome. It beats the sleepy allegations perfectly. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[maquina-semiotica]

Rachika Nayar, "hawthorn" #NowPlaying

[affairesasuivre]

Rachika Nayar – Heaven Come Crashing : musiques romantiques et nébuleuses

Heaven Come Crashing est le second opus de la jeune new-yorkaise de Brooklyn Rachika Nayar. On y entendra 10 titres en clair-obscur, enveloppant l’auditeur dans une atmosphère vaporeuse riche et rassurante.

Certaines musiques atmosphériques sont souvent décrites comme cinématographiques. Parce qu’elles dessinent des horizons sonores, des ambiances desquelles nul ne serait surpris de voir émerger un personnage inattendu. Ces musiques peuvent parfois sombrer dans la facilité qu’offre toute la technologie musicale actuelle. Rachika Nayar évite avec talent cet écueil en conservant son instrument de cœur à la base de toutes ses créations.

C’est à la guitare que l’ensemble des lignes musicales prend forme. Les sons sont ensuite totalement retravaillés, par sous-couches et par couches….jusqu’à en métamorphoser totalement la texture. Une œuvre de musicienne autant que de sculptrice.

Parfois, comme sur Gayatri, la guitare se fait reconnaissable, pareil à un ilot émergé au cœur de l’océan. On s’y accroche pour s’y ressourcer avant de partir de nouveau à la dérive volontaire dans les flots sonores riches d’écume.

Durant ces brefs instants, Rachika Nayar s’inspire en lui rendant hommage au son de Steve Reich.

Le titre donnant son nom à l’album Heaven Come Crashing illustre ce tumulte construit de nappes successives. Une ligne mélodique simple (comme on le retrouvera d’ailleurs sur le morceau Sleepless) est lentement, sagement déployée. Subtilement Maria bc vient murmurer à nos oreilles déjà conquises et faussement rassurées. Une première nappe très Drum & Bass se superpose, des vagues de basses lourdes et une lame déchirante de guitare brute s’ajoutent. Succédant à l’appel envoutant d’une sirène, voila l’auditeur en pleine tempête aussi brève qu’inattendue.

L’ensemble de l’album s’écoute avec un plaisir immédiat qui ne se dément pas au fil des écoutes. Celles-ci, bien au contraire révèlent une diversité, une richesse et une subtilité que seuls les grands albums possèdent.

Rachika Nayar demeure fidèle au label NNA de sa première production Our Hands Against The Dusk (2021). Elle poursuit avec cohérence ce méticuleux travail de création, hybridant avec succès la guitare, quelques cordes et le piano avec les processus de modelage électronique du son.

Cette fusion n’est pas étrangère à la production d’un court EP intitulé « Fragments » (2021) et édité par le très pointu label RVNG Intl, lui aussi installé à Brooklyn. C’est en effet sur ce même label que des artistes aussi talentueuses que Holly Herndon ou Julia Holter se sont fait connaitre.

A l’instar de ces artistes, Rachika Nayar déploie une musique protéiforme tout à la fois romantique et nébuleuse, insouciante mais sincère, complexe tout en étant accessible.

Si le concept même d’album est de plus en plus mis à mal alors que la musique s’écoute par playlist, Heaven Come Crashing existe aussi pour convaincre de la nécessité à se laisser porter par l’ensemble des compositions voulues par l’artiste.

Nicolas Duquenne

Rachika Nayar – Heaven Come Crashing

Label : NNA Tapes Records

Date de Parution : 26 aout 2022

[album-a-day-project]

3/23/24

MIZU

Forest Scenes

====

I remember seeing her live in Brooklyn with Rachika Nayar. It was really strange since it was at a dance venue, but it was completely silent for her show, not even any claps after a track. Pretty surreal. I think the album title and the artwork match perfectly with the style of music from MIZU. There is great depth and it sounds really inspiring which can sometimes be challenging with an instrument like a cello. I just with there was a bit of nuisances between the tracks, but after listening to this 3 times through it will definitely be one that I will revisit again over the course the year and will certainly be at the top of my list at the end of it.

9/10

[etrangersvoyageant]

Rachika Nayar - Nausea

To my surprise and dismay, I hadn’t posted anything by Rachika Nayar yet. It’s time to right that wrong. Nausea comes off Heaven Come Crashing in which she combines ambient and electronics to create an absolute fantastic album.

It doesn’t happen that I almost listen to an album to the point of no return, meaning I get sick of it. Yet, I was close with that album.

[mxdwn]

ALBUM REVIEW: Rachika Nayar – Our Hands Against The Dusk

https://music.mxdwn.com/2023/04/30/reviews/album-review-rachika-nayar-our-hands-against-the-dusk/