Music Reviews

The Weeknd – real name Abel Tesfaye – is one of our most interesting pop stars. His 2020 album After Hours managed to generate huge, ubiquitous pop hits without dampening his dark vision: a self-destructive sleaze slinking around LA in a narcotic haze, sleeping with models and nodding off at parties. He continues his gloomy world-building on his latest, surprise album Dawn FM. A concept album about a retro pop radio station in purgatory.

Tesfaye’s had a more interesting ascent than most pop stars. He started as an indie icon a decade ago; his woozy, lo-fi debut House of Balloons was praised by Pitchfork and generated huge hype online. His distorted, uncanny songs helped popularise the dreaded “alt-R&B”, a phrase that clings to any artist making music outside of the genre’s typical parameters.

Crossover to the mainstream happened gradually, with albums that were filled with pop hooks destined for radio play. But these albums were a low point of Tesfaye’s career, with the artist unable to balance his desire for pop dominance with dark, more complex experimentation.

Dawn FM strikes the balance perfectly. There are bonafide hits (the retro-funk ‘Sacrifice’) mixed with wilder explorations (the synth-heavy, electronic excess of ‘Gasoline’). His sleazy, nihilistic persona is still present, but unlike his previous albums, Tesfaye seems genuinely worried about hurtling towards oblivion. Fatalism, it seems, is far easier to revel in when it feels out of reach, not everyday reality. IT

BASKING IN THE WEEKND

THE BOY NAMED IF ELVIS COSTELLO & THE IMPOSTERS

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After more than 30 albums, Elvis Costello sounds remarkably spontaneous and fresh-faced on The Boy Named If. That’s especially notable because Davey Faragher’s bass and Steve Nieve’s keyboards were added remotely after Costello had laid down guitar alongside Pete Thomas’ drums. Longtime fans will savour this rewarding tour of the English songwriter’s established sweet spots, from the wiry guitar gnashing and itchy reggae flirtations on ‘The Death of Magic Thinking’ to the sloshing pub singalong ‘The Man You Love to Hate’. The album starts off strong, with the bracing immediacy of ‘Farewell, OK’ and the title track, a cynical ode to our dialogues with our inner selves. ‘Paint the Red Rose Blue’ even plays like a spiritual sequel to Costello’s 1981 cover of the country ballad ‘A Good Year for the Roses’. If not exactly striking into new territory – something Costello has already done plenty of times – this is a well-executed victory lap that maintains its vigour and momentum in tandem with those famously withering lyrics. DOUG WALLEN

CAPRISONGS FKA TWIGS

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The story of FKA Twigs’ career is one of virtuosic shapeshifting. Her transition from elite backup dancer to singer/producer/ director has generated impeccable, singular works designed to blow minds. But the artist’s calculated intricacy and grandeur can sometimes make her character seem opaque. On new mixtape Caprisongs, Twigs seems intent on downgrading her theatrics in exchange for intimacy, lightness and play. Along with collaborators including El Guincho and Arca, Twigs weaves a relentlessly catchy catalogue of party music that luxuriates in its immediacy. Many tracks reference styles specific to London party culture, particularly ‘papi bones’, featuring Shygirl, which pays tribute to Jamaican sound systems. Voice memos slip glimpses of casual conversation into this celebratory milieu, further heightening the breezy and flirty atmosphere. It’s delicious and necessary. Caprisongs arrives at a time when many of us need simple levity and enjoyment – and it delivers richly. MARCUS WHALE

BLUE NO MORE GABRIELLA COHEN

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The Melbourne-based artist’s latest is the epitome of the summer album: a breezy affair filled with songs about brief flings (‘Just for the Summer’), crushes (‘I Just Got So High’) and odes to tapping out (‘Frangelico Dreams’). Cohen’s previous albums – Pink Is the Colour of Unconditional Love(2018) and Full Closure and No Details(2016) – were more loose and lo-fi, filled with sprawling garage and acoustic numbers, but here the sound is tighter and more robust. The palette is surf rock, 60s girl group melodies, blues, psych-folk and rollicking 70s rock. While energetic and fun, sometimes Cohen ventures too close to rock tropes and lyrical cliché, which makes some of her songs’ carefree sentiment feel a little saccharine. She is best when in a softer and more contemplative register, like the lovely, unadorned ‘Water’ and expansive and reverb-heavy ‘Blue No More’. On these tracks, you can fully take in Cohen’s wonderful and versatile vocals, which move from euphoric yelps to mournful melancholia with