Review Summary: As long as I'm alive, I'm undefeated
On January 9th, 2022, an atypical character with a pantomime vibe kidnapped French TV news. Stromae, a Belgian artist, was invited on TF1 to talk about his upcoming album,
Multitude. Instead of the classical interview made of bows and other courtesies that do not say anything about the music, Stromae answered a question by actually singing the album's first single, "L'enfer". Like the man's career, the performance was on the edge of collapsing under its own weight - stuck between the joy to perform and the highly dark lyrics depicting his suicidal thoughts. It only lasted for several minutes, but it proved Stromae was back. Not in the sense that he's simply releasing a new album - although yes, he actually just released an album - more that he's back to make legs shake and hearts cry.
It all started back in 2009. Chirpy EDM banger "Alors on Danse" blasted through European charts with its dancing grooves and grandiloquent vocal delivery a la Jacques Brel, ultimately topping the charts in nineteen countries. The Stromae formula was already evident: talk about sad things to cheerful music. The sharp lyrics dived into the darkest aspects of ordinary life, like how studying will only bring you debts or how having close friends and family will only make you encounter death. The only solution to all these dark thoughts? Dance til you're dead!
This schema repeated itself in Stromae's first two albums,
Cheese in 2010 and
Racine Carrée in 2013 - the latter being the highest-selling album of both 2013 and 2014 in France and Belgium. Stromae's most loved tracks from this era - like "Papaoutai", "Formidable", or "Carmen" - all incorporated electronic and danceable sounds with African or Cuban influences, but they mostly marked the Francophone music paysage because of their lyrical storytelling. Stromae is the kind of artist that could talk about anything and still make us connect to his material because, well, he's talking about us in a truly empathetic way. He observes and recounts but judges very little.
His impact on the Francophone scene was properly colossal, but the burden was too heavy for one man obsessed with control and perfectionism. Being the first Belgian on the stage of the Madison Square Garden, or performing in front of a total of one fucking million people in two years, was too much for Stromae, who burned himself mentally and physically - an adverse reaction to an anti-malaria drug did not help either. For five years, he lived a "normal" life - can't live an everyday life when you're one of the most famous artists of your country - only interrupted by occasional musical or fashion collaborations.
With
Multitude, Stromae enhanced and refined his formula.
Vocally, he mostly lets go of his vestiges of rapological technique by fully adopting a Brel-like croon. Despite the Francophone roots of this vocal style, all his verbal deliveries fit the worldwide soundscapes. While many subgenres of Latin Pop are swiftly incorporated within his trademark dance-pop made of groovy percussions, it's the wide range of instruments that brings the record its eclecticism: "C'est que du bonheur" is the occasion to hear a xylophone shred, "Pas vraiment" opens with a Southeast Asian flute, "Déclaration" features a Turkish oboe, and "Fils de joie" sees a harpsichord dictate the melody while a Brazilian beat governs rhythmic territories. World music remains a dirty word in these parts, but it does sum up the album much better than any other tag - looking at you, RYM's "French Pop".
Thankfully, instead of falling into an unbalanced gloubiboulga of world music, Stromae puts his influences at the service of his stories, bringing musical light into lyrical darkness. Indeed, all these tunes, despite their musical joviality, unpick topics that are generally not touched upon in pop music. Depression, constructed narratives of unhappy couples, sex workers, everyday misogyny, or suicide are all handled with eloquence and enough empathy so that the songs do not become moral lessons.
The whole record is thus conducted by lyrical duality and conflicting feelings: "Riez" sees him contrast the delusion created by material possessions with the reality of all those born-losers who are only allowed to dream of dreams. In "La solassitude", he embodies a man who's crushed by loneliness when single yet hates the routine of every relationship. The clearest example of this duality however lies in the final diptych - "Mauvaise Journée" and "Bonne Journée". These two songs share the same situations - a man telling his day -, but the feeling is diametrically different. The first track swoops into negativity, while the second oozes positivity, eventually showing the compelling yet straightforward power of perception that constitutes
Multitude's lyrical backbone: we have control over our minds, not over outside events.
By combining somber thoughts and a sheer desire to get better,
Multitude is Stromae's strongest album lyrically. Likewise, the expanded sonic palette remains subtle despite the ample array of influences - a central issue of his two previous albums. Not everything is *chef's kiss* though, yet the criticisms that could be thrown at this new album are minim: "La solassitude" or "C'est que du bonheur" do not land lyrically as smoothly as intended, and there are at least three songs mentioning poop - that's at the very least two too much. But, most importantly, what might refrain this new album from performing as well internationally as his two predecessors is the lack of pure banger a la "Alors on Danse" or "Papaoutai" - I do hope "Bonne Journée" proves me wrong. However, as a whole, this new outing presents itself as the man's most consistent and rich record yet.
Multitude is federative, audacious, and gives itself the means of its international ambitions, already standing tall as the Belgian artist's best overall effort: elegant, emotional, yet explosive. Resolutely Stromae.
Welcome back, Maestro.
