The Weeknd Gets Away With It

I should hate The Weeknd—he got to sleep with Selena Gomez, and I didn’t, which I’ve never figured out. But you can’t hate someone who makes music this good, the kind that actually cuts through all the forgettable recycled noise. Since Abel Tesfaye showed up at the start of the decade with House of Balloons, he’s been operating on a different frequency. Right now, he’s the pop star.

His new song Lost in the Fire with Gesaffelstein is him laying out exactly what he wants to do. Fuck you slowly with the lights on. You’re the only one he sees. The sex is so good it’s priceless. Then he goes further: you mentioned you might be into women, maybe you’re going through something, and if you want to bring someone over, she can ride your face while he fucks you hard. It reads like a 2 a.m. text from someone who’s genuinely horny and has nothing to lose.

When The Weeknd sings it though, something shifts. The crude honesty of it stops being embarrassing and starts being magnetic. His voice is so assured, the production so polished, that you stop thinking about Tinder and start thinking about whether he actually means it. Maybe I should have sent Selena Gomez those lyrics instead of secretly liking her photos at 3 a.m. Maybe that would’ve changed everything. Or maybe The Weeknd just has the rare skill of making anything sound necessary, even the most naked want.