A tech journalist and startup advisor with over a decade of experience covering Silicon Valley innovations.
On the surface, Lux might appear more like an arduous scholarly quiz than the latest pop project by an artist whose last hit featured an international pop star. Split across four distinct sections and voiced in thirteen tongues, this is a dizzying orchestral-influenced album exploring female mystique, religious ascent, and physical change, often through the lens of different female saints. The end of a relationship—a topic treated with grounded openness elsewhere—is launched skyward here, buoyed by the lush sound of a major symphony orchestra and contributions from a Pulitzer-winning composer within a vast list of collaborators. Its sheer audacity by itself renders the work of other artists look quite modest.
That Lux manages to avoid overly intellectual chin-stroking feels nearly a miracle, with sole praise belonging to Rosalía. Although it's not the first time project to alchemize historical sounds and the present, the stakes feel much greater here, and the tightrope walk more dramatic. What truly raises this fourth release, outside of its multilayered tunes, rich arrangements, and engrained drama, proves to be an essential spirit of playfulness. Similar to the legendary Björk at her peak, there is a wondrous sense to Rosalía's voice that pulls you up in its whirlwind. When she is breaking your heart apart, you nevertheless desire to be alongside her for the ride.
This exuberant energy comes forth brightly during the stunning piano-led song inspired by a saint. It bathes in a sorrowful whirlpool for more than four minutes. Suddenly, everything falls silent, and we hear a gleeful giggle and a declaration before a comically exaggerated orchestral surge crashes down like cartoonish impact. The song immediately shifts to the frenetic single driven by racing strings, a powerful choir, and a surprise appearance from none other than Björk.
"The charm of this album lies in the listener rarely exactly understand—or even want to know—what it will go to next."
Nearly every song ends in a completely different point from how it started. One moment examines the transient trappings of fame over a delicate orchestration only to collapsing in digital cacophony. Elsewhere, a cut that recalls the artist's previous rhythmic style begins off dark and sinister, with prowling beats, until fluttering flamenco rhythms and a heavenly choir enter to smooth the song's rough edges.
A key achievement on the album involves straddling the gap between bold innovation and broad appeal. It is little surprise that the album has achieved her first work to crack the upper reaches of major charts: at its core a suite of truly undeniable pop songs. A song sung primarily in English builds on a chorus that feels to collect increasingly nagging melodies while it spirals upward. That trick gets repeated on a different powerful ballad that expands and constricts, weaving layered tunes like an intricate weave.
Lux represents pop on a grand scale, a hungry reach for high Art amid of impending artificial sameness. It rejects solipsism in favor of glorious elevation, crafting an over-the-top spectacle that masterfully controls its built-in ridiculousness. It is a deep well of buried treasure that takes patience to fully mine but doesn't feels like a chore. Where other big releases of 2025 seemed like a meager meal, this record is a lavish feast at which the guests around it, some tipsy on holy wine, flit between conversations about historical figures, the profound feeling of heartbreaking sadness, and common stories about hopeless men. In essence, it's a contemporary musical from music's most restlessly inventive visionary.
A tech journalist and startup advisor with over a decade of experience covering Silicon Valley innovations.