Now rank “Dancing in the Sheets”!
Harlan Talib Ockey: Dancing in the Dark > Dancing in the Street > Dancing in the Flames > Dancing in the Moonlight.
[4]
Alfred Soto: An OK example of Abel Tesfaye’s rattling electro-pop, though I get no hint from the singing and the arrangement that he has any acquaintance with flames except what he sees at the end of a lit joint.
[6]
Katherine St. Asaph: Juddery synthpop that’s peppy and soulless and fine. The challenge with music that evokes actual danger — e.g., the Weeknd’s offerings until “Can’t Feel My Face” — is that it requires constant, believable escalation to work; Abel fumbled those stakes sometime around Kiss Land. Music that evokes fake simulacra of danger, though, can stay the same forever and be just fine.
[6]
Dave Moore: You know, the Weeknd turned into Spotify playlist wallpaper so gradually I didn’t even notice.
[4]
Taylor Alatorre: You have to listen a second time to recognize that Abel has just given us a bimbofied reskin of “Understanding in a Car Crash,” and you have to listen a third time to recognize that no, of course he hasn’t; whatever highfalutin’ concept this ends up buttressing on the album, the shattered glass imagery is really only there to cover his candy apple melodies in the thinnest latex coating of Old Weeknd edge. “Love,” “beautiful,” “radio,” “switching lanes”: those are the words that stand out amid the streaks of passing tail lights and the rush of oncoming wind. They are footholds of pop familiarity, mental permission slips for the listener to kick back and let the jet-propulsion synths carry them to the next highway mile marker. Any loss of control is only nominal — this is cruise control working as the good Ralph Nader intended. The Weeknd puts in studio hours to dutifully turn out yet another “Blinding Lights” variation, and we forgive him because the almighty driving song (much like the teenage tragedy song) is not a thing to be reasoned with, only turned off or fully locked into. Which side of the windshield are you on?
[7]
Ian Mathers: He should have pivoted (pivoted back to?) full-on synthpop sooner, honestly — this feels like his best chorus since, what, “Blinding Lights”? So many of the last [x] number of Weeknd songs and appearances have felt tedious or fraught in various ways; it’s a surprising relief to hear one where I mainly just want to hum along.
[7]
Hannah Jocelyn: The last line of this chorus is a meme in a Discord server I’m in (god I feel so “how do you do fellow kids” saying that, I’m 27!), but even after hearing this multiple times, when someone says “it’s unremarkableeee” I still can’t piece together what they’re referencing. As someone who was teased for liking Coldplay in high school while other kids were getting into the Weeknd, it’s incredibly funny that the two have converged: with its oohs and kitschy synths “Flames” could have fit on Moon Music.
[3]
Will Adams: Close enough: welcome back CHVRCHES.
[6]
Nortey Dowuona: The Weeknd is a lithe, agile vocalist who comfortably floats atop the tenor range, but the song he gave producers Max Martin and Oscar Holter needs to soar into the heady, vacant stare of the hypnotized, then fly into the focused, intense glare of the excited. They needed to cast a glowing spotlight upon his voice that doesn’t expose its lack of depth or power, but also doesn’t isolate it in a way that makes it clear the music accompanying is meant to be incidental. So they settled for a simple kick/snare/kick pattern and a bland bassline that lurks beneath the heavy cloud of synthesizers, which seize the bridge to make their play for attention. They do their job. Unfortunately, the lyrics The Weeknd wrote are so vapid that their careful work is completely wasted — at least, if you are paying real attention. If you in fact heard this while crashing, my condolences: you will survive, thus hearing “Out of Time” instead when you get driven home.
[3]
Mark Sinker: There’s a rhythm shape that seems to be all over the place at the moment: two measures, one of two long syllables, the second of four short syllables. Poetry nerds would calls this a “spondee” followed by a “tetrabrach,” and I’m getting technical only because I had to hunt around for “tetrabrach,” which makes me think it’s rare (or anyway used to be). This is what gives the chorus its push-push-push feel: I – CAN’T – WAIT (to-see-your) FACE – CRASH – WHEN (we’re-switching), etc. I associate it with Taylor Swift — which may not be fair, I don’t suppose she invented it. Even more unfair, maybe, is me associating it with childishly sulky foot-stamping, but that’s what it sounds like to me. It adds a curious and not very likeable flavour to the perky beat of this already quite anxious song.
[5]
Andrew Karpan: I’ve long stopped liking using iPhones, or even many of Apple’s products generally, but I remain attracted to the faint nostalgia for a time when that felt like the future. The same can be said of the Weeknd, whose latest piece of heartpounding softpop kitsch doubles as an advertisement for the iPhone 16 Pro. But that’s okay, I’ll still keep drinking that garbage.
[7]
Jel Bugle: Coming on like a latter-day Cher, like a popstar from the algorithm. A very easy-listening modern pop tune, and I did enjoy it. We still need things that are safe and sound like now, the past and forever.
[7]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Dazzling — the legendary showman and pop icon unveils himself, shedding layers of artifice and mystique. He is free now, untethered to the personas of the past. He is revealed anew, fresh in the light of dawn, as his final form: the most boring man alive.
[3]