LUX

Finally, it’s here. The project we figured ROSALÍA was working on for the last three years but for which we lacked real proof until her dramatic announcement just last month, paired with the dramatic release of the show-stopping Berghain. The daring and obnoxiously talented Spaniard has routinely promoted quality over quantity. In her almost 9 years of recording music, she has been stayed classy, but not particularly frequent per se. Indeed, ROSALÍA has often taken her time to put together well-produced, high-caliber singles, EPs, and LPs that consistently lure us further into her art. Waiting is always better than disappointment, but the three-year albumless hiatus following a record as remarkable as MOTOMAMI (2022) admittedly felt cruel at times.

An overwhelming amount of press has been done on her iconic 2022 record and its incredibly well-recieved tour… which is why it will not be praised at-length here. In this way, we are fulfilling ROSALÍA’s request of embracing her new art. Her new chapter. Her constant self re-invention and discovery. When asked about her previous work in PR interviews for LUX, the artist has repeatedly said, “That’s the past. Everything is in constant movement. Me, I’m always in constant change. Why, then, [should] my sound not change with me? It doesn’t make sense to stay stuck to whatever I’ve done before. It doesn't mean I don’t have love for the previous projects or I’m not grateful for them. But no, it's what's next. There have to be other ways of making songs, always. We have to - at least try - to find them.” A wonderful way to think about art, it is perhaps an approach that artists everywhere can take notes from.

LUX is indeed the beautiful manifestation of transformation - not only because of the stylistic jump from MOTOMAMI, but the very nature of LUX itself. It is a record that sounds like a rebirth. Put simply: it is a classical, climactic rendition of avant-garde pop. Put less simply: it is layers of taut orchestral strings that act as the glue for a varied crop of songs about heartbreak, God, and humanity sung in 13 different languages. LUX is the kind of bold, visionary originality that mainstream pop has not seen in arguably over a decade.

The roughly hour-long, 15-track record is split into four parts, with the CD and vinyl versions including three additional exclusive tracks. The first part (tracks 1-5) feels indisputably ethereal, as if we are scraping the sky as ROSALÍA grapples with finding her place between the realm of mortals and that of God: “Quién pudiera vivir entre los dos?; Primero amaré el mundo, y luego amaré a Dios.” This part faces questions almost as big as the instrumentals: booming drums, perfectly overwhelming strings and unpredictable tempo changes.

As ROSALÍA tackles fear, judgement, divinity, and her place in the world, her writing enters new territory: “Pray on my spine, its a rosary; Through my body you can see the light; Bruise me up I’ll eat all of my pride” - one of many exceptional lyrics in the first part of the album. Could it be ROSALÍA’s non-native English that makes her writing so daring and original? Either way, she remains light years ahead of her contemporary pop peers. Reliquia is most certainly a stand-out in not only this first part but the record as a whole, especially thanks to lines such as the following: “En Japón lloré y mis pestañas deshilé; Y en la ciudad de Cristal fue que me trasquilé; Pero el pelo vuelve a crecer, la pureza también; La pureza está en mí.”

Reliquia is furthermore arguably the clearest manifestation of one of the album’s biggest themes: being a citizen of the world. For those who question their sense of “home”, listening to ROSALÍA scatter small parts of herself around the world feels unexpectedly healing. This element draws out some of her finest writing, notably the following line: “Pero mi corazón nunca ha sido mío, yo siempre lo doy, ooh; Coge un trozo de mí, quédatelo pa' cuando no esté.” The theme of Reliquia bridges effortlessly into the second major theme of the album: being a child of God. When taken together, these two themes work in tandem to promote a message our world, especially now, lacks: unity. ROSALÍA reminds us that in the “eyes, light, and love of God”, we are equal. With startling sophistication, ROSALÍA laughs in the face of division and hate. We are unified not only in her linguistic fusion, but in the sheer beauty of her art. In blending her vocals with the instrumental sounds that have transcended time and space, the songs on LUX bring us closer.

The first part of the album is shifted into the second by the all-powerful Berghain - a climactic masterpiece bringing together sounds that few have thought to weave together before, and by even fewer who have actually successfully done so. We are dropped from the ethereal heaven of Björk’s, “This is divine intervention” line to the mortal realm of Yves' Tumor’s abrupt “I’ll fuck you ‘till you love me” mantra. This marks the gradual shift from the divine realm of the first part to the mortal realm of the second and third, where ROSALÍA dips into more corporal, mortal experiences (i.e. dissing her ex, drinking wine, and the story of a broken family). It is in this second and third part that we see ROSALÍA in her most accessible, human form: struggling with hurt, prayer, desire and forgiveness. 

In the fourth and final section, ROSALÍA’s death returns her to the realm of the Gods. It is a soft transition from Memória to Magnolias, the process of acceptance. But finally, after pondering regret and the reputation she will leave behind in Memória, she asks “E o que eu non fixen en vida, facédelo na miña morte” in Magnolias before surrendering to her ascent: “Deus descende e eu ascendo; Encontrámonos a medio camiño.” This writing is simple. Because it can be. “You don’t need a personal investment in Rosalía to get shivers down your spine when she begs you to throw flowers over her casket.”

LUX deserves the praise it is receiving - but it is thoroughly demanding. It carries both an immense instrumental and thematic weight to it. It privileges a top-to-bottom listening experience, which is, unfortunately, difficult to do for most listeners today. Still, ROSALÍA has acknowledged this fact in admitting she is “asking a lot of her audience.” Certainly, it is imperative we move away from the overconsumption of dopamine overload and heal our broken attention spans. But LUX is rich. Almost too much so for frequent listening. It feels rather like a ritual or cleansing to be used sparingly, than any kind of daily pop rotation material. 

On a related note, there is debate to be had concerning if anyone can truly enjoy this album to its maximum capacity. With so many languages, every single listener is going to “miss out” sooner or later, right? LUX has therefore stoked the fiery debate of the value of lyrics. To what extent is it necessary to understand them? And, in the context of LUX, what is their value? Perhaps the answers lie not in this forum, but in the symphonic soundscape of LUX: are the sounds of classical music enough to unite us? Or must we converse?

At times, ROSALÍA’s voice does not suit the languages she takes on. In them, her voice changes, as does her way of speaking. In English, she imitates a Björk-like off-kilter way of stressing incorrect parts of the words, creating a flow of her own - one that is foreign to native speakers. It is charming at times, distracting at others. This, too, raises interesting questions about the true purpose of language: To what extent does delivery matter? To what extent are we capable of understanding without literally understanding?

Clearly, LUX was just as much of a research project to develop as it is to digest. The album leaves countless doors open, questions unanswered, and discussions open-ended. But instead of being a sign of weakness, this is the very thing that indicates the album’s greatness. LUX is not meant to be understood entirely. It can only be felt, collectively. Because it is bigger than all of us.