On the surface, this album might appear more like a difficult scholarly examination rather than a new popular music record by an artist who just had a previous single was a collaboration with a global pop star. Divided into 4 different parts and performed in 13 languages, this is a head-spinning orchestral-influenced opus exploring feminine mystique, spiritual transcendence, and physical change, often by way of the lens of various saintly figures. The end of a romance—a topic handled with grounded openness elsewhere—is launched upwards here, supported by the lush sound of a full orchestra and input from an award-winning songwriter within a vast list of collaborators. The pure audacity by itself renders the efforts of other pop stars look quite modest.
That Lux manages to transcend overly academic chin-stroking is nearly a miracle, with complete credit belonging to Rosalía. Although it's not her first album to fuse historical sounds and modern styles, the ambitions feel far higher on Lux, and the balancing act far more dramatic. What truly raises her fourth release, outside of its multilayered melodies, rich compositions, and engrained theatricality, proves to be an essential sense of joy. Similar to the legendary artist during her height, you find a wondrous quality to Rosalía's singing which sweeps you into its whirlwind. Even when she is tearing hearts in two, the listener still want to stay alongside her through the journey.
This playful energy comes forth clearly on a stirring piano-led ballad about Saint Clare. It bathes in a string-drenched whirlpool over several minutes. Then, all the music falls away, and we hear a spontaneous giggle followed by a comment before a hilariously over-the-top string crescendo thuds in with cartoonish impact. The track immediately shifts to the frenetic single featuring racing orchestration, an imposing choir, and a surprise role from the artist herself.
"The charm with this album lies in you rarely quite know—or even want to predict—what you will go to next."
Almost every song finishes at a totally distinct place than where it started. One moment examines the transient trappings of celebrity over a delicate symphony only to disintegrating in digital chaos. Another, a cut that recalls the artist's earlier rhythmic work begins off dark and sinister, with prowling vocals, until sudden flamenco handclaps and an angelic chorus arrive to soften its rough corners.
A key balancing act of the album involves straddling the line of radical innovation and broad accessibility. It is little coincidence that the album has become her first release to break into the Top 5 of key markets: at its core a collection of utterly catchy pop songs. One track performed entirely in the English language builds on a refrain that feels to collect increasingly nagging hooks as it spins upward. That trick is repeated on a different powerful track that expands and contracts, weaving layered melodies like an intricate weave.
Lux represents pop on a grand level, an ambitious reach for high artistry in an era of impending artificial blankness. It eschews self-absorption for glorious elevation, crafting an over-the-top drama that masterfully controls its built-in excess. It is an abundant well of buried gems that requires patience to fully explore but doesn't seem like hard work. While some major pop albums of 2025 seemed like a meager scraps, Lux is a sumptuous banquet where the guests at the table, some intoxicated on holy wine, flit from discussions about ancient figures, the galvanizing feeling of heartbreaking grief, and shared stories about useless men. In essence, it's a contemporary theatrical production from music's truly endlessly inventive practitioner.