LUX
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, followed by the release of the even more dramatic Berghain, published just a week before the album. The daring and obnoxiously talented Spanish artist has always promoted quality over quantity. In her almost 9 years of recording music, she has been consistent with her deliveries, but not frequent per se. She has always taken her time to put together well-produced, high-caliber singles/EPs/LPs that always lure you in further into her art. Waiting is always better than disappointment, but I must admit the three year albumless hiatus following a record as addictive as MOTOMAMI (2022) felt cruel at times.
An overwhelming amount of press has been done on the stunning 2022 record and its incredibly well-recieved tour (which I was fortunate enough to be able to attend)… which is why I will not be exploring it now (as much as I would love to). 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 said repeatedly “Thats 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 an approach I wish more artists would take when creating.
LUX is indeed the beautiful manifestation of transformation - not only because of the stylistic jump from MOTOMAMI, but the very nature of LUX itself feels 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 tremendous questions 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, she enters a new domain of good writing: “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” is one of many stunning lyrics in this first part about questioning human purpose. I can not help but ask myself if Rosalía’s non-native English is what makes her writing so daring and original, or if she really is simply light years ahead of her pop peers. Reliquia is most certainly a stand-out in not only this first part but the record as a whole: “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. This is a theme that resonates on a profound personal level as someone without any strong national ties, which is why listening to Rosalía scatter small parts of herself around the world feels so deeply healing. Few lyrics have made me feel as seen as, “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 together to promote a message desperately needed in the current world: unity. In the eyes of God, we are equal. In the light of God, we are equal. In the love of God, we are equal. With startling sophistication, Rosalía laughs at borders, division, and hate. She unifies us not only in her multilingual lyrics, but by making the very thing that has brought people together since the dawn of time: beautiful 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 it. We are thrown down 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 lower, corporal 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. As said by Gio Santiago much better than I could, “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 all the praise it is receiving. But it is by all means a demanding record. Instrumentally, lyrically, and overall sonically it has an immense weight to it. It priviledges a top-to-bottom listening experience, which many people simply do not have the time for. Rosalía has admitted she is “asking a lot of her audience”, which I would agree with. We need to move away from the overconsumption of dopamine overload to heal our broken attention spans. But LUX is rich. Almost too much so for everyday listening. It feels rather like a ritual, a cleansing to be used sparingly.
On a related note, there is much 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 on something in some capacity. LUX has therefore stoked the firey 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? These are questions that can not be answered here, but rather something that can be found in the symphonic soundscape of LUX. Is classical music enough to unite us?
To be truly nit-picky, Rosalía’s voice does not always suit the languages she speaks in. Her voice changes, as does her way of speaking. In English, for example, she imitates a very 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. But this, too, raises interesting questions about the true purpose of language. To what extent does delivery matter? To what extent does fluency matter?
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.
