Reviews

ALBUM REVIEW: The Weeknd – Thursday

by cminaya

“Is that song over already? It just started!” That was my reaction to as good as each and every track on The Weeknd’s newest tour de force, Thursday. Having said that, in retrospect, one can deduce what a feat this mixtape is seeing as the average duration of a song on Thursday is close to six minutes. All the same, how close is it to House of Balloons’ magnificence and the hype it built? Ever so close.

“Life of the Party” bears the incongruous similarity “House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls” had on House of Balloons, and the title track “Thursday,” although dulcet, was rather vapid. For all that, that is the most critical any rational person can be.

The adept play of drums on the mixtape’s preeminent record, “The Birds Part One,” is stellar enough to remain as just an instrumental, and one should not overlook the dazzling fact that “The Zone” is so impressive that it did not have to draw people to it by posturing a legible credit of Drake’s feature but by its canny figurativeness.

The sublime production of House of Balloons’ carried over onto Thursday by virtue of Abel Tesfaye retaining the seasoned Martin “Doc” McKinney and Illangelo to produce every song, leaving Tesfaye’s lyrics the sole, remaining element to ensure his musical forte did not ebb.

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The lyricism throughout Thursday did not fail to fulfill expectations. From the first record, “Lonely Star,” The Weeknd’s sagacious subtlety, when it comes to lyrics, is striking.

“Baby, I can be your best friend. And, baby, I can f— you right. Baby, you can have it all. Baby, you can have it all. Baby, you can have it all,” Tesfaye voiced on Lonely Star.

The canniness of that portion of the song is bordering on indicative of not just Thursday but The Weeknd’s artistry as a whole. The Toronto native words many, sweet lines that are sure to captivate female fans’ trust but not without his borderline, cryptic way of inserting short, provocative utterances that have all the hallmarks of men’s lust, whether single or not.

Plugging “And, baby, I can f— you right,” in between the line about being her best friend and the other about her having it all is illustrious, for it is emblematic of the, very real, indecent side of many people that is all but submerged by genteel fronts and is seldom disclosed, if ever. When it is, it is plugged in between uncontroversial matters, close to how a Thursday is plugged into the week.

9 out of 10