here's one for the weekend.
The Weeknd sound like a club night's hang-over. Teeth grinding, spine shaking, fucked raw, possibly bleeding. Blinds closed against the sunlight. Perpetual night.
The Weeknd have proved once and for all, that its okay to like Michael Jackson. The resemblance to "Billy Jean" on "XO/The Host" is uncanny, like verbal spiritualism.
If you were to tell me 5 years ago that i'd be jamming out to slow motion 80s funk fetishism, while i was in the throes of my spazzy metal-head noise freakdom, i would've looked at you like you were retarded, and probably on drugs. Lately, however, this is about all i really feel like listening to, in the dead of night. It approaches my heart of hearts; bitter as fuck and nearly defeated, but with a dope beat.
The thing that no one wants to admit, is that the junkie after-life of vacant bedrooms and soiled mattresses, is that its romantic as hell. Its like a samurai romance, dying all the time, but loving life for it, sucking the bitter pomegranate juice from every night. Its clinging, sure, but it is a form of aesthetic appreciation. If you can handle Echoes of Silence's wrist-slashing despair, you might notice that its production is nearly flawless; tight, thick beats meant to BUMP, or the way the guitar soloes creep in and the lovely piano melody on "Next". He's got a nice voice, too. One thing you can say in this post-dubstep world, is that the producer's are really truly mastering their machines. Electronic music has never sounded better.
Echoes Of Silence is a Junkie's love song, or a dumpster diver's prayer. Its a street light romance. Its about blooming where yr planted. Its about raw, uncompromising, art. The fact that he's giving this away for free means there's no excuse to not check this out. Roll around in the dark side.