Finding your voice in sunny optimism isn’t a familiar trope in music, but what the heck: You saw Tulus’ stratospheric rise a couple of years ago.

By the release of his second LP, Gajah (Elephant), Tulus, the Indonesian singer/songwriter whose name translates to “genuine”, has gamely cemented his place as a lovestruck, lovelorn good guy.

Resonating with a significant bulk of the paying audience (with Gajah selling roughly 90,000 copies, six months after its release), Tulus’ piano-driven pop music is hopeful; he’ll extend a hand when anyone else would prefer not to.

So the tricky part now is, I’d imagine, moving away from an established formula to a thing we as a functional society call “progress”, one that’ll reward the guy.

Monokrom (Monochrome), Tulus’ new LP, succeeds on one front: adding new layers to his music. Tulus has never devised his albums as a concept or a detour.

At its best, the progress that he’s shown in this collection lies in the minute details of his songs. Monokrom isn’t a consistent record, if taken as a whole. But skip a couple songs and new converts will probably find solid reasons to stick around to his music.

Incidentally, all the great songs on this album share the same DNA: the string arrangement, courtesy of the City of Prague Philharmonic, which Tulus worked with for Monokrom.

The gorgeous arrangement turns whatever bare piano stuff Tulus can whip out in his sleep into a rollicking piece. This is the reason Monokrom always hints at greatness.

It even opens with it: “Manusia Kuat” (Strong Human) is a thumping opener. Not only does it remind you of Tulus as a lyricist — “Manusia-manusia kuat/itu kita! [Strong humans/that’s what we are]” — but also as a way to highlight a refusal to repeat.

What follows after that is also another fine song called “Pamit” (Goodbye), a rousing piano ballad about Tulus’ breakup, offering to “still be her best friend”. The cinematic, almost menacing strings add something to the song. That something happens to be Tulus’ greatest strength: his firm hold on his emotions. He’ll again repeat this dirge in a song called “Langit Abu-abu” (Grey Sky).

Even Monokrom’s weakest songs boast this strength. “Tergila-gila” (So Crazy), for instance, is a fun, R’n’b-tinged song featuring the singer having a brilliant time in the studio. It has a guitar solo, because, simply put, it suits the naturalistic, mythology-eschewing lyrics.

Only the bland “Tukar Jiwa” (Switching Souls) lacks the character and the emotional emphasis Tulus is known for.

At the core of Tulus’ music, there’s optimism. It doesn’t matter which sadness belongs to whom, he’ll be there.

“Cahaya” (Light), set to a relaxing guitar and some added instrumentalization, finds Tulus sweetly crooning “ratusan alasan kamu berharga” (“Hundreds of reasons why you’re precious”).

On “Mahakarya” (Masterpiece), he advises everyone — and, perhaps, himself — to stay true to their work and what they believe in; it’ll pay off, considerably more than you’d think. Tulus’ optimism may ruffle some feathers; in a good way for fellow optimists, in a bad way for cynics.

Monokrom closes with two of Tulus’ finest songs: “Lekas” (Hurry), an anthemic number and the title track. The latter is a guitar-led bubblegum music that pays tribute to monochrome pictures, as a means to strengthen memory and bring it back for rainy days. It’s a sweet song, one that exemplifies Tulus’ secure place in Indonesian music.

On one hand, Monokrom isn’t a consistent record. On the other hand, it makes it easier for you to believe that Tulus has been keeping his masterpiece in his pocket.

— Stanley Widianto

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