At first glance, this album might appear closer to an arduous university examination rather than the latest pop album from an artist whose last single featured an international K-pop icon. Divided across four different movements and performed in thirteen languages, we have a dizzying orchestral-influenced opus exploring feminine mystery, spiritual ascent, and physical change, frequently through the lens of various women saints. The end of a relationship—a theme handled with grounded openness elsewhere—is shot heavenward here, supported by the lush sound of a full orchestra and input from an award-winning composer within an extensive list of collaborators. Its sheer audacity by itself renders the work of other pop stars appear quite laughable.
That Lux succeeds in escape dry academic chin-stroking feels nothing short of miraculous, with complete credit going to the artist. Although this is not her first album to fuse the past with the present, the stakes are much greater on Lux, with the balancing act far more dramatic. What truly raises this fourth release, beyond its complex tunes, dense compositions, and inherent drama, proves to be an essential sense of playfulness. Much like the iconic artist during her peak, you find a wondrous quality to RosalĂa's singing which sweeps you up in its whirlwind. When she is tearing your heart apart, the listener nevertheless want to be alongside her through the ride.
That exuberant energy comes forth clearly during the stirring piano-led ballad inspired by Saint Clare. It luxuriates in a string-drenched melancholy for several moments. Suddenly, everything falls silent, to reveal we hear a gleeful laugh and a comment before a hilariously exaggerated orchestral surge thuds in like cartoonish impact. The track immediately segues into the wild track driven by galloping orchestration, an imposing choral group, and a surprise role from none other than Björk.
"The charm with Lux lies in the listener never quite understand—or even wish to know—where you is going to next."
Almost each song finishes in a completely different point from how it began. A track examines the transient trappings of celebrity over a delicate symphony before collapsing into electronic cacophony. Another, a cut echoing the artist's previous rhythmic style begins off dark and sinister, featuring prowling beats, before sudden traditional handclaps and a heavenly choir arrive to soften its rough corners.
Another crucial balancing act of Lux involves navigating the line of bold experimentation and mainstream appeal. It is no surprise that it has become her highest-charting work to crack the Top 5 of major markets: at its core a collection of utterly undeniable hits. One track performed entirely in the English language builds on a chorus that seems to collect increasingly infectious hooks as it spirals upward. This feat is echoed on a different expansive track that grows and constricts, weaving layered melodies like a complex tapestry.
Lux is popular music on a maximalist level, an ambitious grasp for high artistry amid of looming artificial blankness. It eschews solipsism in favor of glorious elevation, creating a dramatic spectacle that masterfully manages its inherent ridiculousness. It is an abundant source of hidden gems that takes time to fully mine but doesn't feels like a chore. Where other major releases of 2025 seemed like feasting on meal, this record is a sumptuous feast where the characters at the table, perhaps intoxicated on holy drink, flutter from conversations about ancient figures, the galvanizing feeling of soul-shattering sadness, and common gossip about hopeless men. It is a modern-day musical from music's most restlessly creative visionary.
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