The Weeknd has been running away from ‘House of Balloons’ longer than he basked in the glow of its success. Its pervasive influence, initially on the underground but recently on mainstream pop, puts it alongside ‘The XX’, ‘808s and Heartbreaks’ and ‘Untrue’ as one of the most culturally important debut albums of the past ten years. Perhaps understandably, after several years of exploring more colourful sounds, ‘My Dear Melancholy’ safely returns Abel Tesfaye to the sonic signature of that record. It’s where he found his voice and it still sounds like a natural home. But this was far from inevitable – in the wake of the gigantic ‘I Can’t Feel My Face’, ‘I Feel It Coming’ and ‘Starboy’, returning to this gloomy flavour of r&b feels like more of a risk than he’s being credited for.
Over six relatively streamlined and uncomplicated tracks, ‘My Dear Meloncholy’ comes back to the themes and lyrical motifs that made The Weeknd famous. It can partly be read as a break up album (and gossip mags have already latched on to several lyrics that drop hints about his relationship with Selena Gomez) but the title serves as a directive: this is not about any one person, rather, it’s a love letter to the state of mind that often (but not always) comes as a consequence of a break up. Here Abel takes perverse glee in the sadness that saturates every lyric, every wailing note and every weeping baseline. Compared to the blockbuster production of ‘Starboy’, songs like brilliant ‘Wasted Time’ and ‘Call Out My Name’ feel revelatory.
An impressive array of collaborators – Skrillex and Daft Punk among them – do their best to inch Tesfaye towards a more uplifting space. There are hints (only hints mind you) of dub, garage and trap that saturate an otherwise bleak landscape of moody r&b and druggy electro. But compared to the unexpected samples contained on ‘House of Balloons’ and those other earlier mixtapes, the sounds of ‘My Dear Meloncholy’ feel just a little too predictable. On a six track e.p there is no room for filler, so the ‘Worth It’ re-run ‘I Was Never there’ looks even more unnecessary than it might on a longer record.
The Weeknd has gone to some lengths to position ‘My Dear Meloncholy’ as an album, and not an e.p, and therefore it must be treated as such. However obvious it may be, six songs is an odd number for a feature length collection of songs. Too long to be dismissed and too short to build up any head of steam, the record occupies an unusual space. It feels slight and insubstantial, and despite, or perhaps because of, it’s not insignificant strengths, ultimately feels like a missed opportunity. You wonder what could have been achieved over an album with slightly more depth and detail. Even so, It’s is a quietly impressive reminder of The Weeknd’s strengths. compared to the ridiculously overlong and inconsistent ‘Starboy’, it feels like much needed course correction.
6.5/10