Rosalía Ascends Into The ‘LUX’

Frantic strings spill from speakers, swirling around the listener. Out from layers of orchestration, a fiery voice hauntingly rises up, singing words of obsession.

While it may seem like a scene from the center stage of an opera house, it’s actually “Berghain” — the lead single to Spanish singer Rosalía’s fourth studio album “LUX,” released Nov. 7.

“Soy to’a’ la’ cosa’, yo me transformo” — “I’m everything, I transform” — she boasts on her 2022 track “Saoko.” Using this line as a creative ethos, “LUX” abandons any preconceptions about what a Rosalía album could be. 

Previously morphing from classically trained flamenco to experimental reggaeton, Rosalía’s newest orchestral offering — recorded in collaboration with the London Symphony Orchestra — cements her status as a sonic chameleon. 

In line with its Latin title meaning “light,” “LUX” adopts a Catholic aesthetic, as well as the stories of various female religious figures from many belief systems, into its narrative. Rosalía sings in 14 different languages, matching those of the saintesses she’s discussing. 

“Each language corresponds to stories of different saints — women who are saints from around the world,” she said at a private listening event in New York City. “Every time I would reference one of the stories, it would be in one of the languages.”

Just like a traditional work of classical music, “LUX” is divided into four movements, with the first embracing a more experimental sound, the second a lush classical one and the third and fourth returning to her flamenco-esque roots. 

“Sexo, Violencia y Llantas” opens the album with a soft piano intro, soon accompanied by dark violins bowed under Rosalía’s intimate voice. Suddenly, a blistering synth jolts in accompanied by a full choir, exploring the dichotomy between the earthly world full of sinful desires below and the perfection of a holy heaven above.

The following “Reliquia” takes the listener on a worldwide journey, where she describes her different experiences across the globe.

“I lost faith in D.C. and a friend in Bangkok / A bad love in Madrid and in Mexico a blunt,” the globetrotter originally sings in Spanish.

Even though her life has been shaped through her travels, her heart — which she wants her lover to cherish like a “Reliquia,” or “relic” — stays unchanged. Shimmering, almost digital-sounding strings on the verses crash into a pounding bass on the chorus. 

With the turn of a page, the track plunges into a hybrid electronic and orchestral finale before transitioning to “Divinize.” Singing in both her native Catalan and English, she equates herself to different Catholic objects, such as the forbidden fruit or a rosary. 

While it starts as a simple piano ballad, the song metamorphoses into a murky, percussion-heavy statement, with strings soaring above her breathy head voice.

“Porcelana” is based on the life of Ryōnen Gensō, a Japanese monk and poet who burned her own face to receive an education after being told her beauty was considered distracting to the male students, Rosalía said in an interview with Zane Lowe. 

Rosalía transforms Gensō’s self-scarrification from an act of submission to an act of feminine liberation from men.

“I’ll throw away my beauty before you have the chance to ruin it,” she sings in Japanese.

Dramatic strings are interrupted by an overwhelming, distorted bass, where Rosalía’s delicate vocals are replaced with a cocky yet commanding cadence. Featuring passages sung in Spanish, Japanese and Latin, rapper Dougie F also delivers repetitive, autotune-soaked ad-libs in English. 

In her version of an Italian aria, “Mio Cristo Piange Diamanti” — “My Christ Cries Diamonds” — is a showcase of Rosalía’s raw vocal abilities. At its climax, an orchestral bomb explodes, with her fierce vibrato rising from out of the auditory chaos like a phoenix, before both abruptly crash down. 

“Berghain” is named after a legendary Berlin nightclub, with the song’s opulent orchestral sound matching the club’s exclusive aesthetic. Rosalía plays a game of vocal catch with the monumental instrumentation before Icelandic singer Björk’s instantly recognizable voice takes control. 

In the midst of singing about the need for divine intervention, experimental artist Yves Tumor chants “I’ll fuck you till you love me,” turning panicked shouts for salvation into graphic ones.

Emerging from the previous track’s depravity, the sonically playful  “La Perla” creates an almost theatrical aural landscape reminiscent of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s “The Magic Flute.” While the track sounds light and plucky, its lyrics are anything but, with Rosalía telling off a past lover — most likely ex-fiancé Rauw Alejandro.  

“La decepción local, rompecorazones nacional / un terrorista emocional, el mayor desastre mundial” or “The local disappointment, national heartbreaker / an emotional terrorist, the world’s worst disaster,” she sings, dripping with venom. “Es una perla, nadie se fía” — “He’s a pearl, nobody trusts him.” 

Spanish term “ser una perla” is used to describe an overly egoistic person. In the song, Rosalía sets up her ex as the king of disloyalty, deception and lying, using the honorific title to emphasize his shortcomings.

“Mundo Nuevo” serves both as an interlude and a reinterpretation of a 1910s flamenco song “Quisiera yo renegar (petenera),” with which it shares lyrics. Rosalía transforms the Andalusian folk song into a triumphant yet ominous introduction for the following “De Madrugá.”

Translating to “At Dawn,” “De Madrugá” sounds like a valiant battle cry. An intense choir of shouts combines with Rosalía’s exasperated delivery, making her sound like she should be charging into battle on horseback. 

“I’m not seeking revenge, revenge is seeking me,” she proclaims in Ukrainian.

In “Dios Es Un Stalker” — an acronym for the Latin word for God — Rosalía poses herself as such, using her omniscient powers to watch her crush. She’s the darkness in their shadow and the wind that blows through their hair. 

“Dios Es Un Stalker” is similar to her second album, “El Mal Querer,” with a flamenco pop-esque sound. A key change near the end elevates the song to a heavenly finale.

Beginning with a beat of knocking, “La Yuglar” venerates the Sufi mystic Rabia Basari. In her teaching, Basari said people should follow God, not out of fear or hope of reward, but solely because of their love for him, Rosalía explained to Lowe. 

Sporadic drums and irregular strings back up the lyrically avant-garde verses, where she describes the gravity of her love for her partner, which is larger than a heavenly thorn the size of a continent or more intimate than a lipstick-sized Titanic.

“El Titanic cabe en un pintalabios / un pintalabios ocupa el cielo,” she sings. “El cielo es la espina / una espina ocupa un continente.”

On “Sauvignon Blanc,” with understated pianos and a lovestruck voice, Rosalía sings of relinquishing her material possessions for the love of her partner. Just like the color of the titular wine, their future together will be golden.

A complete 180, “La Rumba Del Perdón” features booming classical drums, forceful strings and a lively flamenco guitar. The title references a subgenre of flamenco called rumba, which itself was influenced by the Cuban song and dance genre of the same name. When the instrumentation clears, Rosalía belts elongated riffs reminiscent of her first album, “Los Ángeles.”

Switching to Portuguese for the heartfelt “Memória,” Rosalía’s joined by fado singer Carminho. Starting with just Rosalía’s voice, guitar string plucks slowly start to creep in. With minimal instrumentation, both vocalists lament on a past relationship, questioning the loss of their identities as a consequence. Their elegant voices crescendo into an angelic chorus before inevitably returning to their fragile state.

The softness of a flute breaks the silence as Rosalía begins to describe her own funeral on the closing “Magnolias.” She crafts an unusual yet poetic sight of motorcycles revving over her casket filled with wine, gasoline, chocolate and cigars. 

As she lets out her death cry and ascends into the sky to meet God, a choir of her own voice erupts into a chant of “Tírame magnolias” — “throw me magnolias.” 

“Magnolias,” and “LUX” as a whole, ends with a hushed allusion to the biblical Genesis. 

“Yo que vengo de las estrellas / Hoy me convierte en polvo,” Rosalía sings. “Pa’ volver con ellas.” 

“I come from the stars / Today I turn into dust / To return to them.” 

At the end of her self-delivered requiem, finally, she is at rest.

Multifarious, multi-instrumental, multi-movemental, multi-genre, multi-lingual and multi-talented, Rosalía’s “LUX” is not a return to form. “LUX” is a reinvention of the Spanish singer’s already diverse skillset, through grandiose instrumentation, intimate lyricism and an uncompromisingly divine vision.
“LUX” is available to stream everywhere.