At first glance, this work may look more like an arduous scholarly examination rather than a new pop project from an artist who just had a last hit featured a global pop star. Divided into 4 distinct sections and performed in thirteen languages, we have a dizzying orchestral-influenced opus exploring female mystique, spiritual transcendence, and corporal transformation, frequently through the lens of various female saints. The dissolution of a romance—a theme handled with grounded openness on another major 2025 album—soars upwards on this record, buoyed by the lush presence of a major orchestra and contributions from an award-winning composer within a long roll call of collaborators. Its sheer daring by itself renders the work of contemporary pop stars seem rather small.
That this album succeeds in avoid overly academic chin-stroking feels nearly a miracle, with complete credit belonging to the artist. While this is not her first album to blend historical sounds and the present, its scale are much higher here, and the tightrope walk far more dramatic. What really elevates her fourth release, outside of its complex tunes, rich arrangements, and engrained theatricality, proves to be an essential spirit of playfulness. Similar to the legendary artist during her peak, there is a captivating sense to the vocalist's singing which sweeps the listener up in its whirlwind. When she is tearing hearts in two, you still want to stay alongside her through the ride.
That playful energy shines clearly on a stirring piano-led song inspired by Saint Clare. It bathes in a sorrowful whirlpool over several moments. Suddenly, everything falls silent, to reveal there's a spontaneous giggle followed by a declaration before a hilariously over-the-top orchestral crescendo crashes down like comedic impact. The track then segues to the frenetic single featuring galloping orchestration, a powerful choral group, and a surprise appearance from the artist Björk.
"The charm of Lux is that you never exactly understand—or even want to predict—what you will go next."
Almost every song finishes at a totally distinct point from how it began. A track explores the transient trappings of celebrity with a featherlight orchestration before collapsing into digital chaos. Another, a song that recalls the artist's previous trap-infused style starts off moody and brooding, featuring prowling beats, before fluttering traditional handclaps and a heavenly chorus arrive to smooth the song's jagged corners.
A key achievement of Lux is navigating the gap between bold experimentation and mainstream accessibility. This is little coincidence that it has become her highest-charting release to crack the Top 5 of major charts: its heart contains a collection of utterly undeniable hits. A song performed entirely in English builds on a chorus that seems to gather more and more infectious melodies as it spirals upward. This feat gets echoed by a different powerful track that grows and constricts, intertwining multiple melodies as an intricate weave.
Lux is popular music on a maximalist level, a hungry reach for capital-A artistry amid of looming artificial blankness. It eschews self-absorption for sublime elevation, creating an over-the-top drama that skillfully manages its own built-in excess. This is a deep well of buried treasure that requires time to fully mine but never feels like hard work. While other major pop albums of the year felt like feasting on meal, Lux is a lavish banquet at which the characters at the table, perhaps intoxicated on sacred drink, flutter between discussions about historical saints, the profound feeling of soul-shattering grief, and shared stories about hopeless partners. In essence, it's a contemporary musical from pop's truly endlessly creative practitioner.