At first glance, this album might appear more like a difficult academic examination rather than the latest pop record by a musician who just had a previous single was a collaboration with a global K-pop star. Divided across four distinct movements and performed in thirteen languages, we have a dizzying orchestral-influenced album that delves into female mystique, religious ascent, and bodily change, often through the perspective of different women saints. The end of a relationship—a theme handled with raw openness on another major 2025 album—is shot skyward on this record, supported by the constant sound of a major orchestra and work from a Pulitzer-winning songwriter within a long list of contributors. Its sheer audacity by itself renders the work of other artists look rather modest.
The fact that this album manages to avoid dry intellectual chin-stroking is almost miraculous, with full credit belonging to the artist. Although it's not the first time album to fuse the past and modern styles, its stakes feel far greater on Lux, and the balancing act far more dramatic. What truly elevates her fourth release, outside of its multilayered tunes, rich compositions, and inherent drama, is an essential sense of joy. Much like the iconic Björk during her peak, there is a wondrous quality to the vocalist's voice that pulls you into its whirlwind. When she's breaking hearts apart, you nevertheless desire to be alongside her through the ride.
That playful spirit shines clearly during the stunning Italian ballad about a saint. It luxuriates in a sorrowful whirlpool for more than four minutes. Then, everything drops silent, to reveal we hear a spontaneous laugh followed by a declaration prior to a comically exaggerated string crescendo thuds down like comedic force. The song immediately segues to the wild track driven by galloping strings, an imposing choir, and a surprise role from none other than Björk.
"The magic with Lux is that you never quite understand—or even want to predict—where you will go to next."
Almost every song finishes at a totally distinct place than where it started. A track explores the fleeting trappings of celebrity with a featherlight orchestration only to collapsing into electronic chaos. Elsewhere, a cut echoing the artist's previous trap-infused style starts out dark and sinister, featuring prowling vocals, before fluttering flamenco handclaps and an angelic choir enter to smooth the song's jagged edges.
Another crucial achievement of the album involves straddling the gap of bold experimentation and mainstream accessibility. It is little surprise that the album has achieved her highest-charting work to break into the Top 5 of major charts: its heart contains a suite of truly undeniable pop songs. One track sung entirely in the English language builds around a refrain that feels to collect increasingly nagging hooks as it spins upward. That trick gets repeated by another powerful track that grows and constricts, intertwining layered tunes as a complex weave.
This album represents pop on a maximalist level, a hungry grasp for high Art in an era of looming AI-generated sameness. It eschews solipsism in favor of sublime transcendence, creating an over-the-top drama that masterfully manages its own built-in ridiculousness. This is a deep well of buried gems that takes patience to fully mine but doesn't feels like a chore. While other major pop albums of 2025 seemed like a meager scraps, Lux is a lavish banquet at which the characters at the table, some tipsy on sacred wine, flit from discussions about ancient saints, the profound feeling of heartbreaking sadness, and common gossip about useless men. In essence, it's a modern-day musical from music's most restlessly creative visionary.
Cycling enthusiast and writer, passionately exploring the UK's hidden cycling gems.