Initially, this album may look closer to a challenging academic quiz rather than the latest pop record from an artist whose previous single was a collaboration with a global pop star. Broken into four separate parts and performed in 13 languages, we have a dizzying symphonic album investigating feminine mystery, religious ascent, and corporal transformation, frequently by way of the perspective of various saintly figures. The end of a relationship—a theme handled with raw honesty elsewhere—is shot skyward on this record, buoyed by the constant presence of a major symphony orchestra and contributions from an award-winning composer among an extensive list of contributors. Its sheer daring alone renders the efforts of contemporary artists look quite modest.
The fact that this album succeeds in escape overly intellectual posturing is nothing short of a miracle, and complete praise belonging to the artist. While it's not her first album to fuse historical sounds and the present, the stakes feel much higher on Lux, with the tightrope walk far more pronounced. What truly elevates her fourth album, outside of its complex tunes, rich arrangements, and engrained theatricality, is a core spirit of joy. Similar to the iconic Björk during her peak, there is a captivating sense to the vocalist's voice that pulls the listener into its tornado. Even when she's breaking your heart in two, the listener still want to stay alongside her for the journey.
This exuberant spirit shines clearly during a stunning Italian ballad inspired by a saint. It luxuriates in a sorrowful melancholy for several moments. Then, everything drops silent, and there's a gleeful giggle followed by a declaration before a hilariously over-the-top string crescendo thuds down with comedic impact. The song immediately segues into the frenetic track featuring racing strings, a powerful choir, and a cameo role from the artist herself.
"The charm with this album is that the listener rarely exactly know—or even want to know—what it is going to next."
Nearly every song ends at a totally distinct point from where it began. One moment explores the transient trappings of fame with a delicate orchestration only to collapsing into digital cacophony. Another, a song that recalls her earlier rhythmic work begins out dark and brooding, with prowling vocals, until sudden traditional handclaps and an angelic choir arrive to smooth the song's rough edges.
A key balancing act on the album involves straddling the gap between bold innovation and broad accessibility. This is little coincidence that the album has achieved her first work to crack the upper reaches of key markets: its heart contains a collection of utterly undeniable hits. One track performed primarily in English builds around a refrain that seems to gather more and more infectious hooks as it spins upward. This feat is echoed by a different powerful track that expands and constricts, weaving layered melodies as a complex weave.
Lux represents pop on a maximalist level, an ambitious grasp for capital-A Art in an era of looming AI-generated blankness. It rejects solipsism for glorious elevation, creating an over-the-top drama that masterfully controls its inherent ridiculousness. It is an abundant well of buried treasure that takes time to completely mine but doesn't seem like a chore. While other big releases of 2025 felt like feasting on scraps, this record offers a lavish feast where the guests at the table, perhaps tipsy on sacred drink, flutter from conversations about historical saints, the galvanizing sensation of soul-shattering sadness, and shared gossip about hopeless partners. In essence, it's a contemporary musical from pop's truly endlessly inventive visionary.
Maya Rivers is a passionate angler and outdoor writer with over a decade of experience exploring freshwater and saltwater fishing across North America.