For the third straight decade, there is this undying love for 80s nostalgia. On TV, shows like The Goldbergs and Stranger Things lovingly pay homage to the bygone era. It’s a time of dayglow colors, loud synthesizers, and a moment captured in amber. It’s as easy to love as it is to mock, and most choose to get lost in the sillier side of things, embracing these weird fads that represented a more innocent time. Much like the generation who looks at a Norman Rockwell painting and sees the rough edges fade away, the 1980s have a way of making bright neon pinks and purples feel comforting. Nothing could possibly go wrong so long as you’re staring into the void through the kaleidoscope.
Everyone seems to have gotten the memo, except Abel Tesfaye. Better known as The Weeknd, the singer has pioneered the R&B game with an endless string of memorable, surreal, atmospheric hits. His ability to drop the style into the murky unknown of a synthesizer creates a beautiful, creamy melody that becomes haunting the deeper in that you go. On its surface, you’re hearing a man singing about the familiar tapestry that most pop songs have always covered. They’re love songs, but that is to ignore this haunting sense that his biggest hits like “Can’t Feel My Face” feel a bit off. The conditions he describes require a deeper focus. He’s often not singing about a woman, but to a mistress that controls his inside. If there’s any romance, it’s one of addiction, battling to have a stable soul.
It may explain why his reference points on “After Hours” seem far less pleasant than everyone else’s pastiches. While his phenomenal single “Blinding Light” feels reminiscent of the best unreleased A-Ha song, he seems to be obsessed with the darker side of the genre. At times his music grows quiet, recalling the lingering dread of a John Carpenter or Tangerine Dream score. Other times he feels like cocaine is running through his veins as he shakes with a demented purpose. He recalls Giorgio Moroder as he feels dazed, driving the freeway towards a dark and mysterious city. It’s full of glamour, but even then he can’t help but get lost inside his head, recalling loneliness that no amount of company seems to fulfill.
Much like the title suggests, this is an album that takes place when the world has fallen asleep. There is a danger to the world, where suddenly the fear of a mugger becomes an overbearing reality. There is nobody there and he’s only confronted by his deeper feelings. Like a werewolf, he simply needs to make it to morning, when the world returns in stable condition. Whether that world is inside or outside his head is unclear. Spend one song with him and you’ll quickly find that he has a lot of demons to account for. He’s not having the time of his life after hours. He can’t sleep because he’s depressed.
As far as starting points are concerned, “Alone Again” feels a bit alarmist. Then again, the singer has made music his confessional to explore addiction as this sexy beast. You’ll do anything for her, and his wavering voice lures you in. You’re partially aware of the consequences, but the morbid curiosity wins in. It’s pretty much what makes The Weeknd a great lyricist and an even bolder singer. Through the opening track, his voice is hidden deep in the mix, the synthesizers overwhelming him like a deleted track from the Scarface (1983) soundtrack. It twinkles with life as he reveals some terrible truths. He only feels at home in Vegas where he can “take off my disguise,” throw “two thousand ones in the sky” and give in to impulses. As a trap beat kicks in, he becomes more alive. He comes to the revelation that he doesn’t want to be alone again.
The intention of the song creates a horrifying stance for the rest of the album. While he never outright says it, he is deep inside the synths because he is intoxicated. He’s overcoming an overdose and finding a dependency that won’t go away anytime soon. He’s in a city where gambling is an art form. So long as he has the will, he’ll pull ahead and find new ways to feed his addiction. Despite his overdose, he sings “Too Late” as someone denying his potential to be anything greater. “It’s way too late to save our souls, babe.” He forms trust issues as he loses track of himself. “Hardest to Love” finds him looking back on his past mistakes, realizing that he is to blame for a failed relationship.
So much of the album exists in the push-and-pull of these themes. As much as these would be depressing to read on their own, you couldn’t find it based on the production that surrounds it. He isn’t just aping 80s pop, but smashing it into the 21st century with one of the moodiest, most atmospheric productions. It’s an album that goes everywhere from a sparse beat, barely holding on as he swoons through the background. The sound can become sludgy as he becomes more depressed. It helps that he’s dragged a variety of composers on board, including Daniel Lopatin (a.k.a. Oneohtrix Point Never) who help to improve his sound with the queasy builds and hums that make the high pitched sounds feel richer. At times he could be in a dance club (“After Hours”) while others have him in more active situations (“Blinding Lights”). In just 14 tracks, he has found a way to capture the melancholy that one feels late at night, whether by personal failure or by giving into addictions.
His first single “Heartless” is an aggressive journey into his bad behavior. While he continually shifts between vibrant excitement and regret, this is a moment where it’s all coming loud and fast. He’s “been dodgin’ death in the six-speed” and he has “a hundred models getting faded in the compound.” This is all imagery that any other performer would take as a bragging right, reflective of how wealth has afforded them these glorious opportunities. Not The Weeknd. He’s cautionary in his approach. He believes that he’s given into the worst aspects of fame and “all this money and this pain got me heartless.” He wonders how anyone could deal with him as his voice echoes, doing everything to not let it fade into the ether behind him. He’s “tryna be a better man, but I’m heartless.” Being broken has never been so catchy.
The second single, “Blinding Light” may be the closest the album gets to an outright upbeat and positive song. Whereas other tracks like “Escape From L.A.” find him growing weary of his addictions, here he is given an infectious piano melody, twinkling with intensity as he sings about his inability to focus without his loved one by his side. Unlike other takes, it feels like this may be a more literal romance and one that starts an optimistic street.
The strolling “In Your Eyes” finds him wondering how anyone could see the good in his life. He doesn’t let the feeling that he’s flawed stop it from falling in love with her. It’s a borderline ballad as he manages to turn the act of staring into a study of the soul. Whereas we have been dealing with The Weeknd through his own messed-up head, it feels exciting to see him sway, hitting higher pitches as he declares love with “I’m blind, I’m blind/In your eyes, you lie, but I don’t let it define you.” This brief glimpse of optimism makes one believe that there are chances to fix this poor man.
Things won’t stay together by the end. The title track finds him in a six-minute track that builds from an eight-bar melody. It’s monotonous, save for the eighth note where a thud happens. It’s a sound that mirrors “Alone Again.” Where that song’s trap beat could be seen as his heart regaining life, “After Hours” finds him fading, barely holding on. He’s broken again, apologizing for his past mistakes as he longs to have a stable life. He’s stuck in a dance club, looking at a happy world around him and feeling alone again. In some ways, it explains why he falls to addiction. It’s all so impersonal and doesn’t have the lasting disappointment. Still, he longs for it because otherwise he’s empty. He ends by suggesting “This time I won’t break your heart,” and you get the sense that he means it. It gets so bad that the final song is “Until I Bleed Out,” recalling the feeling of being paralyzed.
If one was to merely read the lyrics page, it would be easy to understand how unpleasant this record is. The Weeknd’s obsession with the dark subject matter is nothing new and becomes redundant when picked line-by-line. Still, underneath this is the story of an artist coming to terms with his own fame, the feeling that the world around him is slipping. Whether it’s an act or comes from personal experience, he manages to draw the listener in with a sound that blends everything we love about 80s pop with this dark and brooding vibe. It’s modern, capturing the confessional style of someone trying to reach out for acceptance.
Even then, he feels blocked by different forces. Sometimes it’s himself, others it may be a woman or drugs. It’s hard to really tell. Whatever the case may be, he has made a catchy record that jolts with life as he takes the once joyful melodies we knew and finds the sadness inside. It could be because he’s not watching the John Hughes movies. He’s over on films by John Carpenter, Martin Scorsese, and former collaborators Josh and Benny Safdie. He’s looking at the gamblers barely avoiding death and finding ways to channel his energy through their prism. The high cannot last forever, but it's thrilling to try and chase it.
There’s a reason that his music videos so far have captured this pastiche. Despite his negative feelings about Los Angeles, he has turned to Las Vegas as this comfort zone. The videos find him wandering around, doing pastiches as he juxtaposes the iconic lights with his own melancholy. Underneath everything is a performer who just wants one person to understand him. His life of fame isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and he’s out there on The Strip yelling his heart out. You want to help him, but sometimes he plays like a lost cause.
It’s an unconventional pop album because it’s not asking to be loved. It’s not even using its more romantic tracks for flattery. What it’s doing is creating a mood that The Weeknd does so well. He observes the fragile mentalities of his characters and tries to make them human. Yes, sometimes it does get a bit redundant and too self-reflexive, but the subversion of electro-pop as a way to admit you’re depressed is rather inventive. It shows the struggles of the outside world’s joy colliding with an internal one that we can’t help to fully understand. It’s dangerous, taking us to the precipice of a drug overdose before trying to rebuild your life. Sometimes it works, but it comes with a few bumps along the road. What does it feel like to wander around after hours in Las Vegas? It probably feels a little bit like this.
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