Rosalía’s ‘Lux’ is unlike anything in mainstream music — thank God

“LUX” by Rosalía (Columbia Records)

Before Rosalía became a global pop phenomenon, she was Rosalía Vila Tobella — a flamenco student at Catalonia’s elite College of Music. There, she absorbed Spain’s folkloric traditions before daring to reinvent them. On her fourth studio album, Lux, those sonic rebellions come full circle.

This is her boldest work yet — a lush, orchestral embrace of her classical roots that demands active listening. Across 18 tracks and 13 languages, Rosalía turns linguistic acrobatics into musical transcendence. It’s an ambitious, maximalist effort that places her far beyond the algorithm-chasing pop crowd.

The opener, Berghain, sets the tone — a collision of sacred and profane. Named for the infamous Berlin club, it features Björk, Yves Tumor, a Catalan choir, and the London Symphonic Orchestra. Björk’s “divine intervention” refrain meets Yves Tumor quoting Mike Tyson — chaos and transcendence entwined. Rosalía sings operatically, treating techno debauchery as liturgy.

Three years after Motomami redefined her as a genre-agnostic visionary, Lux abandons reggaeton’s club swagger for something grander and stranger — part sacred cantata, part avant-garde opera. Gone are the Latin trap beats; in their place, vast orchestral sweeps, linguistic mosaics, and meditations on divinity and humanity.

Hidden gems emerge in Porcelana (partly in Japanese), De Madrugá (with Ukrainian lyrics and a jarring key change), and Dios Es Un Stalker, whose title alone signals Rosalía’s mix of provocation and prayer. La Perla — instantly dissected by fans for possible Rauw Alejandro references — sways between heartbreak and devotion.

The joy lies in the textures: La Rumba Del Perdón, written with El Guincho, resurrects ancestral percussion; Mio Cristo, sung entirely in Italian, soars like a cathedral aria. In a charming outro, Rosalía breaks character mid-recording — “That’s gonna be the energy,” she says, before the music swells again, cinematic and alive.

Each language, she says, is “like an instrument.” That metaphor anchors Lux: experimental but grounded, it uses global tongues to forge connection, not distance. “If I could, I would have sung in all the languages of the world,” she told reporters in Mexico City. “If I could, I would have put the whole world on this record.”

And somehow, she nearly has. Lux isn’t just about light — it’s luxe: time, patience, and artistic freedom distilled. In an era of instant gratification, Rosalía delivers a defiantly slow, complex, and opulent album that rewards close attention. It’s not designed for playlists; it’s designed for awe. MDT/AP