Thanks to albums like Victory and The Player, Daan, born near Leuven 40 years ago this autumn, has become famous for his electronic-laden pop songs. But his new outing Manhay marks a new departure.

Daan, lighting his first of many cigarettes: "At first I wanted to have something very pure: a bit of piano, my voice upfront and, depending on the songs, different instruments at the back of the mix. The complete opposite of what I used to do." He smiles: "I didn't succeed. Some of the songs are quite dense, but that's fine with me. Admittedly, I'm a bit afraid of recording a really intimate album, fearing it might end up too gloomy."

Having made his way through the Flemish music scene in a number of bands since the late 1980s (most notably Dead Man Ray, which went on indefinite hiatus in 2003), Daan’s words and voice – sometimes low and smooth, other times electronically screechy – were already famous before he went completely solo.

Not only Daan's voice but also the lyrics are a different story altogether on Manhay, named after the hamlet in the Ardennes where the musician lives half the time, alternately with Brussels. "On the previous albums, the lyrics were the grated cheese on the spaghetti. Now they’re the pasta itself.” Since the lyrics were going be more prominent, they should be more relevant, figured Daan. “Less word-play, more emotions,” he says. “Simply stated: more personal."

And that was harder to achieve? "Yes. Yes." He laughs, but it's a lukewarm smile. "It's dreary, difficult and exhausting. Once I get going, it's okay, but it often takes me two days before I can launch myself into the writing process. But when it's finished, I feel liberated and ecstatic because I've been able to get things out of my system."

Things? No need to be vague here, since, for the first time, the themes of his songs are crystal clear. That doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with Daan's older lyrics, a cocktail of puns, piercing irony, some surrealism and, at times, very persistent rhyming.

Listening to the new single “Exes”, that last characteristic is still present: “A road's as good as all its exits”, sings Daan. Let me guess, he can only fully engage himself in a relationship if he knows there's a way out?

The answer follows before I've ended my sentence. "Indeed. But that song's about more than that. For instance, I hate being a passenger in a car. Even if it's not necessary, I prefer driving my own car. It's a real drag being somewhere without having my car nearby. Or my bicycle, for that matter. I always need an escape plan." He hesitates, his lips curl into a subtle smile, and he continues: "I wouldn't call it pathological – more a healthy form of survival instinct. Sans toit ni loi."

But the obvious is also true. "Nothing in life is as complex as a relationship; it can go wrong in thousand ways,” he says. “Knowing that I will be able to escape, if necessary, helps me feel like the pressure is off and makes the relationship last longer."

Might be true, but he's singing in the same song: “Like a missile that ain’t guided / I was following my seed”. Loads of musicians have sung about – pardon my language – running after their d**k. But seldom as openly as Daan. (Who in fact has been in a stable relationship for many years now.)

Daan, a sex symbol for women and gays alike, guffaws when I quote him. He repeats the lines with a posh voice. "It sounds classy, but of course it's pretty vulgar." And he continues: "Hormonal impulses generally lead to the biggest mistakes in life. But I haven't had many one-night stands." A short pause: "With me it’s more three-nights stands."

But on a more serious note: "Some periods in my life, I had to keep myself from, uh, what you just quoted. But when I'm in a relationship, I can control my impulses perfectly. I'm not a destructive guy."

No? I ask in my purest innocent tone. He struggles to find his words and lands on his feet with a joke. Grasping for his cigarettes, he desperately cries: "I'm not destructive. Another cigarette! Quickly!"

Still, isn't his obvious joie de vivre hiding a destructive side? He ponders the question. "If so, [this destructiveness] is born out of anger for life's finiteness. But I find that an ultra-cynical trait. So instead of letting myself be intimidated by finite limits, I defy them. And that behaviour sometimes backfires."

Daan has the reputation for being arrogant. "I see perfectly why: my album covers are haughty, on stage I am presumptuous. It's the image I paint of myself." But on a one-on-one basis (and I’ve interviewed him more than my fair share over 20 years), he never strikes me as arrogant.

And, interestingly, in the single “Decisions”, he reveals a completely opposite image: “I don't like decisions / My doubt is my religion / Uncertainty my God”.

"Do you really think it's a coincidence I'm trying to look self-assured? Well, it isn't! If I really was certain of myself, I wouldn't make music. I'm trying to create an ideal world, something that surmounts me.”

That might be less the case on this album, he admits. “But guess what? I always thought it hilarious that people bought the caricature I was presenting. I remember the first shows, in 2004, when I dressed in a white suit, with sunglasses and one black glove. It contrasted immensely with my period in Dead Man Ray, when I sometimes played with my back to the audience. I was fascinated to discover that it could be done otherwise."

But I don’t really get it: why wouldn't he make music if he were more self-confident? "Because then I wouldn't question, I guess, the state of things. If you perfectly know who you are, then there's no need to examine yourself. All creative impulses are born out of chaos and uncertainty. If you're self-assured, you'd better become a sportsman.”

www.daan.be