#122 Lux

Last Friday, Rosalía presented her fourth album: Lux. I’ve been a fan since her debut Los Ángeles. And although that was only 2017, it feels as if there’s never been a moment when she wasn’t making music better. So on Friday, at 6 a.m., I ran around Delft in the dark until I’d heard it all. Maybe it was the mist. Maybe it was the medieval city. But honestly, I think it was the profoundly religious texts that had me choke up again and again.

In Dominion (2019), historian Tom Holland calls Christianity “the most influential framework for making sense of human existence that has ever existed.” He chronicles the religion’s history through its influence on the world, especially Western culture. His thesis: even in our secular age, the West remains profoundly Christian in its morality, values, and social norms. The book convinced me that although I live without an active Belief, my convictions, equality, environmentalism, individual freedom, and other progressive causes, are themselves profoundly Christian.

There’s no doubt Lux is an homage to the divine. But Rosalía wouldn’t be Rosalía if that homage didn’t challenge every possible expectation. Her debut Los Ángeles was a classical work of flamenco; her breakthrough El Mal Querer made flamenco pop. Then, with Motomami, she turned flamenco pop into a musical revolution. Like a perpetual butterfly transforming into something new each time, Rosalía keeps reshaping pop music at breakneck speed. Unsurprisingly, Lux is both revolutionary and deeply rooted in the palmas, cante, and emotional intensity of flamenco. Much has been made of her singing in 13 languages, of working with the London Philharmonic and Björk—and Berghain, where this all culminates, makes the fullest sense. As does my personal favourite, De Madrugá, which would have perfectly fit on any earlier album yet also sounds fresh.

To promote Lux, Rosalía appeared on the NYT Popcast. I highly recommend the conversation. She speaks about the reading (mostly feminist biographies) that inspired the songs, learning to sing in new languages, and how Nick Cave has duende. It’s one of the most intellectually stimulating things I’ve heard in months.

Especially when she talks about writing music that makes space for everyone. Rosalía contrasts her (feminine) music with (masculine) rap, which she calls reductionary and exclusive. Instead, she seeks songs that help you feel freer inside—open to possibility. Writing with confidence not from the certainty of success, but from the absence of fear. In theme, morality, and values, it is profoundly religious music. Christian music.

Listening to Rosalía makes me want to make music, read and study, be an activist and an intellectual. I may not be religious, but in her rebellious, feminine divinity, I want to believe.

— Jasper