On Rosalía
Anne Carson
10 September 2026
Ihave a Rosalía hangover. We climbed a giant day to reach her, all twenty thousand Chicago fans. Strutting and grinning and asterisking her eyes she held their shrieking out around her like a magic cloak and changed them all to rabbits or a vase of tulips inside its folds. The white crinolines. The shrieking. So much to understand. At her every inhalation of breath the entire audience screamed as if she were raking their individual spines with her fingernail, each spine. That voice can do anything. And the persona blooms out to contain it. Imagine seducing twenty thousand people like this every night on a tour of God knows how many cities, I can’t.
