The Mess is a new column from journalist Richard Villegas, who has been reporting on new, exciting sounds flourishing in the Latin American underground for nearly a decade. As the host of the Songmess Podcast, his travels have intersected with fresh sounds, scene legends, ancestral traditions, and the socio-political contexts that influence your favorite artists. The Mess is about new trends and problematic faves whilst asking hard questions and shaking the table.
We’re going there. We’re talking about it. Even if things get a little messy.
Rosalía’s new album LUX is finally out, and I have thoughts. Hell, everybody does. Since dropping earlier this month, the hotly anticipated follow-up to the Spanish superstar’s 2022 blockbuster MOTOMAMI LP has stirred a global firestorm of discourse. From a risky pre-release publicity stunt in her native Barcelona, to whether this era’s religious motifs are sacrilegious or promote trad values, and even gossip over which of her exes is the “terrorista emocional” at the center of “La Perla”, La Rosalía’s PR team is working tirelessly to keep us gabbing.
Happily, the meticulously crafted music is also being discussed, and reactions range between delirious conspiracy theories from online stan accounts and snobby symphony uncs whose best take was, “¿Tú qué vas a saber de música clásica, chamaque pendeje?” But while every artist hopes to spark conversation rather than be swallowed by the algorithm, the speed and flippant nature of this recent chatter seem rooted more in a race for content than in meaningful engagement with the art we’ve been presented.
So, what are people saying? On one hand, LUX is being celebrated as a revolutionary non-pop approach to pop music. Gone is the alt-reggaeton that made Rosalía a favorite scene partner of Bad Bunny and J Balvin, and, thankfully, so are ill-advised appropriations of Caribbean slang like “Saoco” and “La Pampara.” Instead, we’re treated to the second coming of EuRo-salía, singing in 13 languages, pushing her academic vocal training to the limit with dizzying operatic performances, and partnering with the London Symphony Orchestra for lush instrumentation.
Like clockwork, hideous classicism manifested through praise for Rosalía’s departure from tacky reggaeton and back to white-coded art-pop; a backhanded compliment that is ultimately nothing of the sort. Meanwhile, tone-deaf critiques of mass audiences being too easily impressed by chamber music ignore the historic elitism that makes this realm expensive and intimidating, as well as its enduring influence over popular Latin American genres like tango and banda. On the flip side, perreo fans longing for the next “Con Altura” or “Bizcochito” dismissed the record as little more than a Disney soundtrack. And while I can’t op-ed that itch away, I recommend keeping an eye on local DJs cooking up some wild remixes.
More than a matter of stan wars or gatekeeping, the tidal wave of discourse is symptomatic of how we’ve been conditioned to turn every experience into clickable, shareable, self-promoting content. The evening LUX was released, my DMs were flooded with artists and colleagues asking for my opinion, and though I understand the content economy requires us to strike while the iron is hot, it was unsightly to open Twitter to find my timeline overrun with pseudo-theology scholars. Nevertheless, the next morning I gave the album two good listens before adding my own hasty two cents to the conversation. Now here I am, commenting on the comments.
But this is my job, while you, dear reader, have been duped into becoming tiny unpaid Pitchforks. Pop culture phenomena like Spotify Wrapped make the average listener feel like a cool music critic by turning consumption habits into branded accounting courses. And yet, listening to 525,600 minutes of the RENT soundtrack doesn’t make you a Broadway expert. That is to say, culture writers and music journalists work to contextualize art within the greater world of a genre or scene, not merely to quantify guest features and sales revenue. Before the streaming age, reviews advised casual music fans on which albums or concerts to spend their hard-earned buck. Now that access to music is nearly free and stans have become pro-bono publicists, critics are most valuable when elevating underheard voices and questioning the powerful.
“Now that access to music is nearly free and stans have become pro-bono publicists, critics are most valuable when elevating underheard voices and questioning the powerful.”
If you’re wondering about my thoughts on LUX, I say it’s pretty great. The first seven tracks are a miraculous run of heavenly theatricality (“Sexo, Violencia y Llantas”), experimental electronic flourishes (“Porcelana”), and the aforementioned intersection of classical music and contemporary Latine pop (“La Perla”). You’re practically bathed in the warmth of celestial sunshine throughout, and the lead single “Berghain” is unequivocally the most impressive musical and vocal flex of the year. That said, many of the songs are too short and underdeveloped, and the lyrics often veer into wannabe-deep platitudes (“Reliquia,” “La Yugular”), even when co-written with the Duolingo owl.
I suspect the album’s religious storyline is a conceit for Rosalía’s true desire to showcase the breadth of her classical studies, married with her immensely influential pop work of the past few years. And in a dystopian present where an “AI artist” just went to No. 1, with more horrors on the horizon, I welcome and celebrate Rosalía’s Herculean approach to music craft with even greater fervor.
Pero ojo, the “pop girlie goes full Lidya Tár” pipeline was built by adventurous icons like Kate Bush and Imogen Heap, while Björk and Ely Guerra delved into avant-garde neoclassical with the voice-only albums Medúlla (2004) and Zion (2019), respectively. Latin American songwriters and composers such as Angélica Negrón, Lido Pimienta, and Mabe Fratti have injected experimental chamber music into DIY spaces and opera houses for over a decade. And even Rosalía made her academic roots known on the underrated debut, Los Ángeles (2017), sticking to a stripped-down format of flamenco vocals and Spanish guitar.
My big takeaway from LUX is that Rosalía has extended the world a robust invitation to broaden our musical horizons, and knowing every Debussy or Rachmaninoff tune is not a prerequisite to do so. Our knee-jerk compulsion to rush to social media with half-baked takes is robbing us of enjoying music, film, and all other conversation-worthy art. Take it from a guy who hustles to hand in album reviews and interviews so I can go back to listening without a stressful deadline looming over my head.
Will LUX change the world? Probably not, but Rosalía has blessed us with a great reason to slow down and listen more intently. Perhaps she is the most pious popstar of our time.
