Initially, Lux might appear more like an arduous university examination rather than a new popular music record from a musician who just had a last hit was a collaboration with an international pop icon. Split into four separate sections and performed in thirteen languages, this is a dizzying orchestral-influenced album investigating female mystery, religious ascent, and physical change, frequently through the perspective of various women saints. The end of a relationship—a theme handled with grounded honesty on another major 2025 album—soars upwards on this record, supported by the constant sound of a major symphony orchestra and work from an award-winning songwriter among a long list of collaborators. The pure audacity by itself makes the work of other artists appear quite modest.
The fact that Lux succeeds in transcend dry intellectual chin-stroking feels nearly miraculous, and sole praise belonging to the artist. While this is not her first album to fuse historical sounds with modern styles, the ambitions are much greater on Lux, with the tightrope walk far more dramatic. What truly raises her fourth album, beyond its complex tunes, rich compositions, and inherent drama, is an essential sense of playfulness. Similar to the legendary artist during her peak, you find a wondrous quality to the vocalist's singing that pulls the listener into its whirlwind. When she's tearing hearts in two, you nevertheless desire to be alongside her through the ride.
This playful spirit shines clearly on the stunning Italian song inspired by Saint Clare. It luxuriates in a string-drenched whirlpool over several moments. Then, all the music falls silent, to reveal we hear a spontaneous laugh and a comment before a hilariously over-the-top orchestral crescendo thuds in with comedic impact. The track then shifts into the frenetic single featuring galloping orchestration, an imposing choir, and a cameo appearance from the artist herself.
"The charm of Lux is that the listener rarely exactly understand—nor want to predict—where you is going next."
Almost every song concludes at a completely distinct point than where it began. One moment explores the transient nature of fame over a delicate orchestration only to collapsing into electronic cacophony. Elsewhere, a cut that recalls her earlier rhythmic work begins off moody and sinister, featuring prowling vocals, before fluttering flamenco rhythms and a heavenly choir enter to smooth its rough corners.
Another crucial achievement of the album is straddling the gap of bold experimentation and mainstream accessibility. It is little surprise that it has achieved her first work to crack the Top 5 of major charts: its heart contains a suite of utterly catchy hits. One track performed entirely in English swells around a chorus that feels to gather increasingly nagging melodies as it spins skyward. That feat is echoed by another powerful ballad that expands and constricts, weaving layered melodies as a complex tapestry.
This album represents popular music on a maximalist level, an ambitious reach for capital-A Art amid of impending artificial sameness. It rejects self-absorption in favor of glorious elevation, creating an over-the-top spectacle that skillfully manages its own inherent ridiculousness. It is an abundant well of buried gems that takes time to completely mine but never feels like a chore. Where other major pop albums of the year seemed like feasting on scraps, this record is a lavish feast where the guests around the table, some tipsy on sacred wine, flit between discussions about ancient figures, the profound feeling of heartbreaking sadness, and common gossip about hopeless men. It is a contemporary theatrical production from pop's most restlessly creative practitioner.
Maya Chen is a freelance writer and urban enthusiast with a passion for documenting city life and cultural shifts.
