If asked to choose one artist who represents what is new and exciting about pop music in 2022, one could do worse than to pick Rosalía Vila Tobella, who performs under her first name. We live in a time when we’re saturated with information and borders dividing artistic styles and cultural reference points are dissolving; people curious about what music is like on the other side of the world can hear for themselves with just a few clicks, and the tools of production mean these sounds can be easily borrowed and reconfigured. Rosalía, a musical omnivore who is deeply grounded in tradition while also enamored with the possibilities of technology, embodies this moment.

She grew up in Sant Esteve Sesrovires, a small town about an hour from Barcelona, ​​and as a teenager she fell in love with flamenco, the dramatic folk style developed among the Roma people of southern Spain. She studied the form, eventually earning a degree from the Catalonia College of Music, and made her major-label debut in 2017 with “Los Ángeles,” a selection of mostly traditional songs. It garnered Rosalía a nomination for Best New Artist at the Latin Grammys, and she followed it in 2018 with the expansive “El Mal Querer,” a concept record that used flamenco as a base to explore an array of aesthetics. As adventurous and successful as that collection was — she won the Grammy for Best Latin Rock, Urban or Alternative Album — her third LP, “Motomami” (Columbia), out Friday, finds the 29-year-old going further. It’s her most pop-focused release yet, and also her most experimental.

The cover of this record and some of its production choices lean toward the futuristic, touching on the heavily processed work of the influential producer Sophie, who died in 2021, and the broader PC Music sphere with which she was associated. But for Rosalía, this future-forward strain of pop is swirled together with rap, the Caribbean style reggaetón, dance, and, of course, flamenco — here, folk guitars collide with otherworldly digital processing. She’s a visionary in the mode of MIA or Madonna, one who uses her mainstream perch to push music in new directions.

The opening “Saoko,” like the album itself, pulls in a little of everything — an ominous synthesizer throbs, there’s a jazzy piano break with skittering brushed drums, and Rosalía sings about transformation and the delight of self-contradiction, about following her instincts rather than a road map. The following “Candy” begins quietly, almost a cappella, and her phrasing borrows from American R&B while the music contains a sample of the atmospheric British dubstep producer Burial. As on much of the record, everything on “Candy” feels intimate and close to the microphone, and the track keeps its delicate bearing even when the syncopated reggaetón beat kicks in. The Weeknd trades lines with Rosalía on “La Fama,” and the Canadian superstar meets Rosalía on her turf, singing in Spanish over a circular rhythm derived from the Dominican form bachata.

Most tracks on “Motomami” credit multiple producers alongside Rosalía herself — contributors include Pharrell, James Blake and the Spanish studio wizard Pablo Díaz-Reixa, aka El Guincho, her primary collaborator on her previous album. The arrangements are often spare but also complex — rhythmic elements and the singer’s voice are forward in the mix, but there are all sorts of odd noises happening in the background, from silly buzzes to distant murmurs that sound like a commotion in the street happening a block away. Both “Hentai” and “Bizcochito” find Rosalía’s voice pulled apart like taffy, pitch-shifted to sound robotic and alien, her warm and studied vibrato augmented by electronics.

“Hentai” is named for a form of animated pornography from Japan, “Bizcochito” is named for a type of cookie, and the uptempo and groove-heavy “Chicken Teriyaki” is self-explanatory. The lyrics throughout the album — all are in Spanish — dwell on sensual pleasures. Bodily urges for food and sex are continuous threads, and so is conspicuous consumption of high-end fashion. The record’s most prominent theme, though, is the wonder of creative expression and the eventual hollowness of fame. Going back to that first track, about the joy of self-contradiction, Rosalía wants to live large and hang out with the rich and powerful, but she also wants to be taken seriously as an artist.

Her songs suggest that the latter matters most of all, and she addresses this concern most clearly when she returns to flamenco. The lyrics in “Diablo” mention God and the way money corrupts, and the structure of the arrangement — a stunning mix of delicate piano and explosive industrial percussion — mirrors the portrayal of good and evil.

The closing track, “Sakura,” is a flamenco number that’s in part about how fame never lasts and shouldn’t be the measure of an artist’s ultimate worth. With the sound of a crowd in the distance, as if looking back on a distant memory, Rosalía digs in vocally and channels her training into a stirring declaration of what she holds dear. She compares her time as a star to a cherry blossom, and notes that her moment in the spotlight will probably have a lifespan just as short as that of the flower. That remains to be seen. For now, she’s warping the pop universe to suit her own vision, with glorious results.

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