Cool library though…

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[5.00]

Hazel Robinson: I love Wiz Khalifa, don’t think too much of The Weeknd, and this could do with vastly more of the former and somewhat less of the latter. The rambling electronica suits Wiz but given he’s got lead credit, there’s a lot of self-indulgence from the collaborators here, especially as, when he delivers, it’s such a breath of (languid, liquid) energy into the track.
[7]

Anthony Easton: Convincing you to do something terrible, not because of pleasure or obligation but because of some kind of magnetic pull is not a new theme, but the Weeknd’s backing tracks make the theme seem otherworldly. I also like Wiz’s flow here. 
[8]

Patrick St. Michel: Despite coming after the “ft.” and his absence from the official music video, The Weeknd dominates “Remember You.” Abel Tesfaye sings the very first verse and the hook, while the red-eyed production comes courtesy of Weeknd contributor Illangelo. This is a Weeknd song that Wiz Khalifa managed to find a spot on and subsequently failed to leave much of an imprint on — even his weed-rapper cred falls flat compared to The Weeknd’s lyrical substance intake. The production, like most of the Toronto crew’s number, is intriguing, but Tesfaye’s words (and Khalifa’s) stray from what made The Weeknd really good back in Spring 2011. Back then, he subverted the decadence by paying attention to the darker corners, but now just rattles off various indulgences without any attention paid to the other side. I do remember you, Weeknd, and you were way more interesting then.
[4]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: When The Weeknd released Echoes of Silence last year, I expressed confusion when Juicy J stumbled into the studio to yell over the end of “Same Old Song.” As much as I appreciated hip-hop’s drunken uncle yelling “spend that shit nigga, it’s Christmas!” it seemed like the doors had been unceremoniously flung open to the wider world. Abel Tesfaye spent so long crafting his sleazy famewhore aesthetic that it felt odd watching him branch outside of the OVOXO camp. So here’s the good news: it may be lesser Weeknd but Tesfaye’s in his comfort zone here, retaining his callousness (and perhaps baiting the critics) with prima donna lyrics like “try to earn my memory,” “don’t worry ‘bout my voice”, etc. Wiz doesn’t attempt to match his collaborator’s queasy romance talk, preferring to say aslittle as possible beyond a listless “Taaaaaaaylooorrr!” “Burn After Rolling”–era Wiz was so much fun to listen to that it’s hard to wrap your mind around how badly he’s fallen off. In these circumstances, calling his label “the new Aftermath” seems more appropriate than he intended — been there, done that I guess.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: The funny thing about the Weeknd Wars is that much of what gets championed as legit R&B is Internet-culty or a commercial flop, whereas the alt-R&B stuff is generally mainstream. Blame the fogs of aesthetics and PR positioning, I guess, because here is a radio airplay hit that’s so Weeknd they’d recognize it in rehab. The credits should be in reverse (and I have no idea why this wasn’t tacked on to Trilogy; it’s not like that was heavily edited.) Illangelo produces, Abel gets half the track, and whatever shit Wiz did was enough to make his voice and affect drop an entire octave, which is impressive. Whatever shit Abel did, alas, is only as impressive as a remembered high. 
[6]

Alfred Soto: A grim vision of R&B now that youngsters think it’s cool: sensitivos like The Weeknd replace the female vocalists that rap stars use for dialogic purposes. Although I’d rather hear Wiz over these skittering beats and chimes than the whey-voiced up-and-comer, Wiz is only cool when he’s loutish.
[4]

Ian Mathers: Khalifa’s verses are stripped down and cleanly efficient, but also stripped of any personality or charm he’s had before. The result makes you ask the same question of him and his hook singer, who’s got an especially odious angle here: what exactly makes you think you’re so fucking memorable?
[3]

Jonathan Bradley: Entirely too busy, be it the almost-hectic drums or Tesfaye’s overstuffed flow or Wiz’s inability to entirely disappear into the wooze. You don’t succumb to this the way you do the Weeknd’s best songs (and this, in sound and in theme, is a Weeknd song, credits be damned); you watch the clock until the boys have done their thing and are ready to fall asleep.
[4]

Andy Hutchins: The “ft.” is in the wrong place, because this feels like Wiz leavening yet another creepy Weeknd track about sex on drugs and because Abel Tesfaye is a person who writes and sings lyrics like “Take pride in what you wanna do/Even if that means a new man every night inside of you” and asks them to “Earn his memory.” The track certainly sounds nice, in the way that a jackass in a club reminding someone that s/he’s way better than succumbing to faux-sensitive wannabe loverman come-ons.
[5]

Brad Shoup: Two guys trying to take comfort in commerce, then demanding to be remembered: that’s not how it works! The track seethes because its masters won’t; if “My Love” sounded like a club collapsing from the inside, the echoes here sound like plastic explosives in a distant parking garage.
[5]