Culture

Rating: 2/5

An arsehole. A genius. Troubled. The second coming of Michael Jackson. Abel Tesfaye, known better by his stage name The Weeknd, has been called many things during his young career. After dropping his first mix-tape House of Balloons in early 2011, claims that the Canadian would become one of the premiere acts in modern R&B were prolific. His blend of pleading falsetto, melancholic lyrics and bassy production seemed to arrive at the perfect time, striking a chord with fans of Pitchfork-approved hip-hop groups and lovers of downtempo alike. Nine months, two mix-tapes and a torrent of gushing reviews later, and The Weeknd was nigh on a household name.

So, where is he now? After dropping a ramshackle-but-still-kinda-awesome redux of Lorde’s “Royals” about a month ago, Tesfaye has finally released his debut studio album, Kiss Land. As his first proper full-length, there is a lot riding on it. He’s achieved a hat-trick in acclaimed mix-tapes, yes, but this is the point where he can and should truly prove himself. Sadly, and strangely, Kiss Land disappoints.

Every element is in place; every facet of his sound that we’ve come to love is present. There’s the self-portrait Tesfaye paints of a broken man, battered and bruised by drugs and women. There are the layers of sub-bass and well-placed samples (including of Portishead on the dramatic “Belong To The World”) that make up the music around him. And, sure enough, he sings in the downcast falsetto that has become his trademark. But the magic is gone. Kiss Land is curiously, impossibly lifeless. I would love to tell you exactly what it is that the album is lacking, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Is it the hint of boredom that can be heard too often in Tesfaye’s voice? Is it the too-slick production of Kiss Land, which leaves a cold gloss? Or is it the mind-numbingly repetitive way each track plays out – sombre buildup, explosive climax, sombre ending? Rinse and repeat. It is probably a combination of the above. Furthermore, Tesfaye strives to make Kiss Land a fully-fledged summation of his sound thus far, but it backfires. Instead of perfectly encapsulating and rendering The Weeknd’s aesthetic, he ends up making an album that feels complacent, even stagnant. It is far too comfortable with itself for far too much of its duration. Kiss Land does not define The Weeknd’s sound; it embalms it.

It has scattered moments of beauty, such as the Daft Punk-influenced “Wanderlust” or the ending of “Love in the Sky,” but Kiss Land is, on the whole, a let down. Tesfaye treads water to the point of self-mimicry, and even in his own insular little sound-world the songs lack spark. If you’re new to The Weeknd (and provided I haven’t scared you off of him) I would strongly recommend that you pick up House of Balloons rather than this. Not a lot to see here, folks.