The Singles Jukebox

Last week, Fucking Drake hit the sidebar. This week, The Worstnd tops [6.00]…

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[6.14]

Nortey Dowuona: The Weeknd cries out in such anguish he overcomes the hollow piano, bumbling bass, and plodding drums to emote. His nasal, high pitched squeal becomes a piercing howl even without the studio effects added. The rumbling, flat synth bass added at the back end weaves his pained wails in with the thudding drums draining out of the mix. The heart wants what the heart wants, until the heart cannot have it at all.
[10]

Micha Cavaseno: You know, making a whole EP that basically translates to that “Lord Forgive Me, But I’m Back On My Bullshit” meme is very up my alley, especially as someone who unabashedly thought Echoes of Silence was actually the peak of Weeknd’s career. Unfortunately, Abel diving back into narcissistic angst is only resulting in trip-hoppy waltzes of gloom that lack any desire to isolate. The irony is that now that he’s succeeded and worked so hard to establish himself as a musical star, you can’t imagine him having the confidence to truly immerse himself into the willful dissolution that made him once arguably compelling to hear.
[6]

Will Adams: There’s light schadenfreude in the idea that this gloomy, melodramatic waltz is the setting for Tesfaye’s late night wailing about her leaving him on read. But that makes it a more interesting sit than the Fifty Shades-addled Lothario act of “Earned It”; its luxuriousness places it somewhere in the Lust For Life universe, if that universe had a pathetic underbelly where the sad men wallow.
[6]

Katherine St Asaph: Wild how the most identifiable feature of the Weeknd’s music now isn’t drugs and lechery, but stately 6/8 ballads. The original trilogy was stage-y already, but this is out of The Weeknd: The Broadwy Musicl: the dark “Earned It” reprise, with Nicolas Jaar muddling the arrangement into an approximation of regret. Lines like “why can’t you wait till I fall out of love” and “you just wasted my time” remind us it’s still the same character, but the rest is acting to the max, the sensitive-emoting version of gratuitous high notes. Apparently there’s something somewhere in here pretending to be about Selena Gomez, but is that really any less bullshit than Fifty Shades?
[7]

Jibril Yassin: Best Selena Gomez-inspired song ever. Ignore the forced “Trilogy” comparisons; “Call Out My Name” is “Earned It” through hip lens. You can hear the same slow vamp, now submerged under layers of snark and hurt. As affecting as this is, something about the Weeknd sending up the role of the heartbroken one feels a little off. 
[5]

Jonathan Bradley: The spare piano suggests a prettiness uncommon to The Weeknd’s catalogue, while while the riptide gloom calls back to his earliest and seamiest work, House of Balloons. Either could have been a profitable direction, but Tesfaye goes with a third option: a blistering wail that recalls “Earned It,” but this time with abjection in place of romance novel salaciousness. “Call Out My Name” manages to be both moody and ignominious.
[4]

Alfred Soto: One of his more convincing performances over the usual minimalist approach to programming. As he’s gotten warmer, though, he’s grown duller. It’s probable the person whom he hopes calls his name is Abel Tesfaye.
[5]