You can hear it all the wayMotomami,”, the third and final album of the 30-year-old Spanish pop sensation, is a synchronized master hit that combines flamenco, bachata, reggaeton, electro, and more – all without sounding like yesterday’s collage. Great and tremendous care – something she demonstrated through sweat and tears on Monday, portraying her curiosity as perseverance, and her meticulousness as ingenuity.
Like the album, she opened her collection with “Sauko‘song The lewd jazz prelude soon gave way to a drooping bass line that sounded like a spaceship standing parallel to the roof. ‘Yo me transformation!’ cried Rosalia during the slanting mantra, then spent the rest of the night changing form as promised. During the vicissitudes of bachata- tinted for “no fama“She was the coolest person alive, her dancers kneeled before her in veneration, and sold her along the way. During Spartan flamenco music”de plataShe became more fragile, her voice hoarse and hoarse, until real tears fell on her face.
And during a wink”hentaiIt was something like a spoiled Mouseketeer, delivering a song that it says was inspired by Disney cartoons, its title referring to the X-rated Japanese manga, and its lyrics at the same time pornographic, poetic, funny, mundane and deep. As she channeled her lungs into the song’s absurdly beautiful escalation, video screens made Towering behind her looks as if Rosalia and her piano have crashed into an emerald meadow – most likely a nod to the grassy slopes of the Windows XP home screen.Somewhere in this unknown universe, Andy Warhol smiled.
A small arsenal of cameras swirled around the stage for the rest of the night – manned by videographers, dancers and sometimes the singer herself, in selfie style. – But Rosalía incorporated it into the choreography with a masterful touch, allowing a continuous sequence of intense close-ups to fill the huge screens behind. In a way, the concert sound design sounded more detailed, the singer’s voice constantly weaving through the bass you could feel in your guts and the rhythm you could feel elsewhere. The palm trees–those crisp claps that permeate flamenco music–sounded so realistic, as if God lurked behind the curtains, clapping for his new favorite singer like a cocky metronome.
And if the lights flash leaving your ears dizzy wondering what they’ve just been through, perhaps it’s best to try and figure out what they haven’t experienced. This was not the limit for the everyday information age. It was not a worldly mood. He wasn’t predictive of direction, using klepto dental floss or browsing tea leaves. This was something more intimate, something precious and futuristic as well – a new type of pop music that seemed to be acutely aware of the unfathomable breadth of life, as well as the fact that we are given so much of a future to live in.