It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to an album from
start to finish; even longer since I was inspired to do so by an artist I was
unfamiliar with. Till the other day. That’s when I heard “Wicked Games” by The
Weeknd. I heard the end of the song on the radio, grabbed Shazam to figure out
what it was, and then proceeded to Spotify to get the whole story. That whole
story is “Trilogy”, the 3-part compilation of previously released mix tapes now
lovingly remastered and crafted into a 3-hour narrative describing an evening’s
(or perhaps a life’s) descent into debauchery.
It’s fitting that it unfolded this way because Abel Tesfaye
is most definitely an artist fully representative of the post-modern
technological society we live in. His music somehow simultaneously captures the
immediacy of emotion with which we all live and the soul-crushing weight of
solitude that technology brings with it. The Weeknd conveys a manipulated, deep,
dark psyche that is probably relatable to at least the previous and current
generations. A young adult thrust into a world of heavy drug use, lack of
privacy, anonymous/multi-partner sexcapades, and the regret that follows all of
those behaviors.
This album is dense; layered with eccentric samples and at
least one complete cover (a ballsy yet almost unerring version of Michael
Jackson’s “Dirty Diana”). If the unfolding of all 3 albums is as intentional as
“Trilogy” would have us believe, then The Weeknd may be a musical genius in the
making. The production value is amazing (helped ably by some of the current
best in the industry). Drake and Clams Casino pop in for the occasional verse,
but it is definitely Tesfaye’s hauntingly beautiful voice that is on display. Half-singing/half-rapping
through most tracks, there is a definite trip-hop influence (for lack of a
better term), though it is melded with the chopped-and-screwed vibe permeating
so much hip-hop today. Psychedelic soul? Fucked-up funk? I’m not sure there’s
an apt genre in which to squeeze this.
Make no mistake, this album is dirty. I mean wake-up-in-the-gutter
dirty. And if you’ve ever woken up wondering what you did last night, where
your money is, why everyone seems to hate you, and you have no idea where you
are…
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
