Belgian superstar Stromae recently sat down in a French TV studio to talk about his new third album, Multitude.

He reported having traveled to Congo, Mali, Rwanda, Brazil, Bolivia and Mexico to prepare for the record.

There he found, among other things, short-necked, long-necked and tube spear lutes, but also asked around for rhythms that seemed suitable to him for his new songs.

The presenter found that they often dealt with loneliness and asked whether Stromae sings to free herself from it.

Until then, the conversation between the two could be taken for a normal interview.

But Stromae provided his answer to the question by singing over the recorded music "L'enfer," a track about his private hell and the album's second single.

From one second to the next, he transformed the prime-time news program into a grandiose pop opera.

A few piano chords and laconic percussion are enough stroma to create tension before strings and a choir heighten the drama.

The lights in the studio were dimmed, as if the singer's soul was about to darken.

He rubbed his face with his hand to wipe away tears.

His gaze, which first politely stayed with the presenter and then turned to the camera, suggested greater inner torment from bar to bar.

With this dramaturgy and a tone of futility in the voice that leaves the listener defenseless, Stromae managed to make time levitate for three minutes.

An irresistibly upsetting moment.

who broke the heart

Its effect came about not least through the lyrics.

In it, Stromae first realizes that many others besides him also know loneliness and suffer from it.

It just doesn't solve his problem.

In a desperate outburst of anger, the lyrical self confronts his own thoughts: "You know, I've thought about it carefully / And I really don't know what to do with you." It can't decide whether it's someone else or not it broke its own heart.

That may come as a surprise (or maybe not) for a star known for his intact private life with wife and child and two previous albums that spent the 1900s practically permanently in the French charts - and not only in this one: who knew not the catchy tune "Alors on danse"?

But this amazement is quickly dispelled for those who hear how much Stromae has planned for his comeback after a creative break due to illness.

On "Multitude" he writes, sings and fights against the loss and unlearning of empathy.

That's another reason why he encourages his listeners to cheer others on "Santé", the first single, with Hawaiian guitars over an electropop groove.

The toilet man at the station as well as the cleaning lady in the brothel,

Also "Le fils de joie", the "son of joy" and actually a deceased sex worker, from whose point of view Stromae sings the piece of the same name, should have its party.

Over happily chopped-up dubstep drums and a vocal echo of his passionate great compatriot Jacques Brel, Stromae refutes those who would take the worst of the possible judgments about the proselyte's son: "They say she was a whore."

In "Pas vraiment" , which means "not really" in German, the lyrical self tries to justify its discomfort in its own relationship by brutally confronting others over a tidy house beat and a flute dancing up and down scales: "I wonder which is why you're still together.” Stromae proves on Multitude that he can bring quite a few, if not all, back together.

With his music.

And even with news programs.

Stromae: "Multitude".

Polydor (universal)