Review Summary: Transcendent...
Pieces of context behind what makes Rosalia’s
Lux such a modern masterpiece is found in its conception, its technical achievement, and even its timing for the artist herself. One could argue
Motomami was Rosalia’s coming out party, smartly borrowing from the more “experimental” western pop motifs while feeling like a celebration of international Latin culture and indeed winning numerous international awards that shot the artist into greater worldwide fame. But with
Lux, Rosalia’s shift into an introspective, spiritual modality has the ingredients of a luminary in the making.
Lux is a sprawling, deeply rich, treatise on Rosalia’s current mindset and place in the world, sung in over a dozen languages, and possesses a production/collaboration credit list that an A24 film would salivate over. One could easily take a deep dive into each song on the album and parse every note, lyric, and note and legitimately discuss the meaning and care Rosalia took in crafting each section, and every pretentious word would be warranted. But I’m not going to do that. From my cheap seats in this conversation, there’s not enough Googling I could perform to fully capture the intelligence, beauty, and meaning
Lux exudes in any sort intelligible way so in an effort to at least meekly participate in this dialog I’ve only one avenue of approach, how
Lux made me feel.
And to start, I have to admit that I did not care for
Motomami. It was fun, it was celebratory, it was eccentric, it also felt somewhat beneath Rosalia as an artist to create. I’ve always heard in Rosalia’s voice the qualities of an actual muse or storyteller and that sense of astonishment I felt when I first heard her croon on
Los Angeles was gone. Drowned in a choppy sea of reggaeton, glitch pop, and bachata. I was happy for her success and saddened by what I felt at the time was a loss of a truly beautiful voice to the glitz and glamor of the pop machine. It was under these circumstances that
Lux was released and sent me right back to 2017 and hearing Rosalia for the first time. Even with her Spanish accent hampering my already meager ability to understand the words she was saying, the emotion and feeling came roaring back in a way I frankly was completely foreign to. And I’d never been happier to be proven wrong.
Using that Columbia Records pocketbook to enlist the London Symphony Orchestra, the shift in tonality from
Motomami is apparent from the get go. Positioned as a sort of contemporary operatic world album, the orchestral arrangements take center stage throughout
Lux but are buttressed by electronica, hip-hop, and a plethora of other trimmings that create the suspense in “Porecelana” and “De Madrugá” or the tender moments that carry the album’s final two tracks. This results in an album that’s musically supremely interesting and wonderfully conceptualized. But it’s Rosalia’s perfectly intonated vocals, and all the anguish, sorrow, and joy they emote that elevate
Lux to such soaring heights. Throughout the album, Rosalia weaves her vocals seamlessly within her score and fully inhabits her stories. Every single melody and note carries a purpose and a weight that is hard to both quantify as a listener and pull off as an artist. The dynamic nature of Rosalia’s technical ability is on full display throughout
Lux. She pulls off multiple powerful crescendos in “Mio Cristo Piange Diamanti” as easily as she delivers a whisper with such weight and tone you feel like you could cut it with a knife. Even if these unique arrangements didn’t wrap around Rosalia’s words with such ease and comfort, her vocals are nothing short of inspiring on
Lux.
Even though I said I wouldn’t be Googling topics and context, I picked up some words on “La Perla” that demanded more attention. And what I found was yet another reason to admire Rosalia’s wit and character. Written about some unnamed ex, the song touches on the man’s charming exterior juxtaposed with his slimy and distrustful real self. The beauty of the song lies in how it drips with such a sneering sarcasm that the music itself was in on the joke with a bubbly waltz we’ve seen princesses dance to. It’s an epic dismissal that shows both Rosalia’s humor and maturity. It’s this maturity that allows someone to experience heartbreak and come back with an album that feels like a journey of self-love and discovery and not bitter loathing.
Lux is a watershed moment for Rosalia, not a transformation, nor a return to form, because Rosalia has many forms. The sheer scope of the project is difficult to overstate and the precision of the execution of its facets, from the expertly-laden and unique symphonic arrangements to the bevy of moods and styles employed to tell these stories is simply breathtaking. And at the end of the journey, I find myself proud of and proud for this stranger I’ve never met and her album full of words that I don’t recognize. They’re unnecessary anyways, I still got the message loud and clear.
