Jemma Wolfe

Senior ANDY Editor

Amidst flashing lights, screaming fans and pulsing beats, The Weeknd took to the stage, opened his mouth and poured out his heart. The crisp high notes, powerful lyrics and crashing music of his opening song “High for This” swallowed up my skepticism about the recently famous Torontonian. So this, I realized, is what all the hype is about.

The Weeknd’s meteoric rise to fame may not have occurred if rap superstar Drake hadn’t innocuously tweeted a lyric from the Weeknd’s track “Wicked Games” just over a year ago. Since then, he’s released three mix tapes – all of which are available for free download on his website – the most notable of which is House of Balloons. That album (the first of the three) was nominated for the 2011 Polaris Prize and ranked highly among most music publications as one of the best albums of the year.

It’s easy to see why critics and fans alike love the Weeknd. His progressive sound, which has been categorized as “post-dubstep,” “PBR&B” and “alternative hip-hop soul,” moves in new and exciting musical directions. The heavy synths, crooning vocals and eclectic samples his songs employ speak to the increasing interest in hybrid forms of contemporary music that pull from the old and new to create something unique.

His performance at McMaster’s TwelvEighty on Friday, March 16 was an intoxicating journey through his innovative albums that rendered the fact that he has performed publicly less than ten times absurd.

Initially, the idea of a concert setting for hearing The Weeknd seemed strange: the melancholic subject nature of his lyrics and the mellow, often ethereal vibe of his music didn’t seem cohesive with the upbeat, fan-crazed nature of live performance. Inexplicably, however, it worked, and by the time he was starting on his second song of the night – a reworking a Michael Jackson’s “Dirty Diana,” called “D.D.” – I was sold.

I finally realized what everybody else in the room – who had stood in line for hours to buy tickets before the show near-instantaneously sold out, who had bought scalped tickets for up to a rumored $70, who had counted down the days until this performance – already knew: that this guy is definitely a superstar in the making.

An element of the Weeknd’s draw that cannot be ignored is the skillful way in which he (or his management) has crafted his public image as an enigmatic musical genius. Few photos and videos of the 22-year-old exist, encouraged by tour managers fiercely adamant against press coverage; no interviews or photographers allowed. Details about his real life are scarce, other than his real name (Abel Tesafaye), his Ethiopian descent and his Toronto hometown. His website lists no personal bio section or any other typical identifying features that are often available for perusal online. All the website has is the music.

In a society obsessed with celebrity, rampant with fanatical fan culture and intent on knowing the nitty-gritty gossip of every public figure’s life, it’s refreshing – albeit frustrating – to get to know nothing about The Weeknd but his music. And really, when you think about it, the music is all that matters. He leaves us wanting more – both of himself and of his catchy, innovative sound.