Ah, the French language! So charming, so romantic, so softly evocative of beautiful times. It’s easy to allow Belgian singer/rapper Stromae’s resonant tones to drift dreamily past on his third album, though the language of love takes on a different hue on C’est que du bonheur (“Nothing But Joy”), a mix of accordion and clattering beats that sees him considering the experience of parenthood. Those who understand French will hear him summing up his love for his son, who was born in 2018, thus: “You’ll see, it’s nothing but joy/You’ll see, it’s pure happiness/There are nappies and foul smells/There is vomit, there is shit, and everything else.”
Marriage and fatherhood are two reasons for the 36-year-old’s long absence from music. This is his first album in nine years, a disappearing act that’s surprising considering that when he left the stage he was one of Europe’s biggest stars. His last release, Racine carrée (or “Square Root”, beating Ed Sheeran to that particular mathematical symbol) was the highest selling album of both 2013 and 2014 in France and Belgium. He also crossed over to non-Francophone countries, especially when his early single Alors on danse hit number one across the continent. Even so, English speakers have so far been resistant despite his appearances on songs with Kanye West, Lorde, Haim and Coldplay.
He also spent his gap years directing music videos for Dua Lipa and Billie Eilish with his brother, but his biggest issue seems to have been side effects from an anti-malaria drug called Lariam, which affected him physically and mentally. He tends to depict characters in his songs, so it’s hard to know exactly how close to reality the new song L’enfer (“Hell”) comes to reality. All the same, the line that translates as: “Sometimes I’ve had suicidal thoughts and I’m not proud of it,” especially when followed by his anguished flailing and jittery electronic noises in the video, has real power.
There is a maturity to the new songs that suits the older man delivering them. He raps less often than he employs a low croon reminiscent of Jacques Brel. Though a few synthesized noises grab attention, such as the wild squeal that tops Santé, he mainly works with traditional instruments from across the globe: Chinese violin on La solassitude, the Andean charango on Mauvaise journée. There’s enough breadth across the 12 songs to appeal everywhere – maybe, this time, even here.
