But Beauty Behind the Madness, whose personnel also includes the singers spiritual mentor Kanye West as well as his longtime collaborator Illangelo, is only a surprise for those who thought the Weeknd was a passing fad. Gone is the anesthetized apparition making R&B out of mixed samples and malice (although the rampant misogyny remains) in his stead is pop musics newest conquistador, a dancing, Max Martin-buffed chameleon, shacking up with multiple lucrative fanbases ( Ariana Grande, 50 Shades of Grey, Ed Sheeran). This sort of gleaming industry machineryalong with the algorithmic pleasure of Tesfayes first #1 single, ∼ant Feel My Facehas some long-time fans freaked out. So this time, the production was scaled up to match his arena status: camera rigs taping a Vevo special, a floor-to-ceiling wall of his album art, signature cocktails at the bar. The show was in celebration of Beauty Behind the Madness, his fifth full-length project (and first as a bona fide celebrity), and over the years, Tesfaye has become adept at working the stage. To commemorate the full-circle moment, he wore the same beat up camo jacket last week on his feet, though, were brand-new black Yeezy Boost 350s. I didn't move from that mic stand, I was holding onto it for dear life. You can look back at the videos from that first show and see how nervous I was, Tesfaye says. The show took place exactly four years, one month, and one day after he stood on that same exact stage, clutching the mic like a totem, and performed as the Weeknd for the very first time.
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The night before at The Mod Club, a cozy, 600-ish capacity venue west of Torontos downtown core, Tesfaye was a young god. When we say goodbye, Tesfayes last words are: Write good things about me! This is not the Weeknd I expected. He seems eager to please, if not a bit nervous. Then, he furrows his brow and speaks in clichés his eyes swerve to the left he stares at the iPhone set between us that is recording his thoughts or he picks at an invisible blemish on the crook of his left arm. Tesfaye smiles easy and often and is comfortable locking eyes, except when challenged to speak at length on his music. Mugs of green tea are set down on a folded paper towel, in lieu of coasters. His hair, the subject of so much curiosity and so many memes simply because he does whatever he wants with it, is there on his head as it should be. A child of immigrants who was raised in the bustling, brown suburb of Scarborough, he wears a filigreed Ethiopian cross around his neckits the kind of token that stays hidden beneath clothing, but never comes off. Hes in house clothes: a black Miami Heat mesh short-sleeve with fitted black jersey-blend pants and white house slippers. A massive window reveals Lake Ontario, which has been a blueish boon to winter-weary city folk all summer on this evening in late August, its grey, a precursor to the grim season ahead.Ībel Tesfaye strolls into the room and sits down at a long, dark, smoked-glass dining table. Platinum records for his 2012 mixtape collection Trilogy hang on the walls. There is a white leather sectional stationed on a white rug so plush it would be disrespectful not to take your shoes off before walking on it.
Its 49 floors up, high above the long shadows of Torontos financial district, and the clouds outside make everything in this sparse and tidy condo look monochrome. All of the lights are off in the Weeknds apartment.