On January 7th, 2022, two exciting things happened.
1: I, along with my fellow slavs everywhere, celebrated Orthodox Christmas.
2: The Weeknd dropped his latest work of genius, Dawn FM.
Now, I’m not naive to some of the negative PR the album has been getting since its release. A divisive project, some people think it’s too “pop-y” sounding compared to his earlier works. Others think it’s not radio-friendly enough. I was perfectly content to let people maintain their (questionable) opinions until I read one too many TikTok comments calling it “mid.”
As a longtime fan, Toronto native, owner of exactly 1 (one) piece of XO merch, and self-aware loser who has listened to Abel’s discography many times over, I consider myself quite qualified to refute these claims. Hell, nevermind my aspirations for business school; I’m practically a Weeknd-ologist at this point.
Dawn FM is cohesive, conceptual, and intentionally strange in a delightful way.
The title track, “Dawn FM” opens the album in a brief, melodic interlude set atop lofty synths and layered electronic ambiance. As the music and vocals fade out, Jim Carrey (yes— the one from all the movies) speaks to the listener directly:
You are now listening to 103.5 Dawn FM. You’ve been in the dark for way too long. It’s time to walk into the light and accept your fate with open arms.
Abel himself then interrupts this eerily evangelical monologue with a radio jingle fit for a top-40s station.
The second track, “Gasoline,” is as joyful as it is chilling. The song’s lyrical morbidity cloaks itself behind a pounding, 80s-esque techno club beat as Abel sings about addiction and overdose. The pre chorus, “I love it when you watch me sleep, you spin me ‘round so I can breathe,” takes on a dark double meaning as he sings gleefully about wanting to be wrapped in sheets and doused in gasoline should he “finally die in peace.”
The third track, “How Do I Make You Love Me?,” is three and a half straight minutes of thumping, dance-house bliss, produced in collaboration with Swedish House Mafia. Lyrically, it’s simple but effective. Employing a strong falsetto, Abel repeatedly inquires: “How do I make you love me? And make it last eternally?”
The song fades until it’s just a drum beat, and seamlessly transitions into a longer, dancier version of the single “Take My Breath.”
For all of the comparisons to Michael Jackson that frequently get made about the Weeknd, the fifth track “Sacrifice” sounds almost like a tribute to the late pop icon— both in terms of vocals and instrumentals.
In “A Tale by Quincy,” the 80s techno-club and dance motifs of the first five tracks come to a halt in a spoken interlude. Quincy Jones reflects upon growing up without a maternal figure, and the subsequent impacts he had come to realize in later life.
The sixth track, “Out of Time,” samples its instrumental from Tomoko Aran’s city pop hit “Midnight Pretenders.” Delightfully smooth and relaxed, as is characteristic of city pop, all of the attention is on Abel’s vocals as he laments about missing his opportunity to be with the one he loved.
“Here We Go … Again” is more low-key. Picture the Weeknd sing-rapping overtop of some elevator music, but like… interesting and melodically complex elevator music. A brief but prominent verse from Tyler, the Creator ties this track together. Though not the most eventful song on the album, it makes for a very cool moment.
“Best Friends” is reminiscent of the Weeknd’s more chart-friendly Starboy era, in terms of both sound and subject matter. The vocal melody is intricate, while the beat and instrumental remain simple as Abel warns a friend-with-benefits against hoping for anything more. The track then fades into what I would uncontestedly call the best transition on the album, with one TikTok user @thefnafbabe (accurately) describing it as “the sexiest transition in the world.”
Seamlessly, we fade into “Is There Someone Else?” A track many have been calling their favourite on the album, it opens with an obscenely catchy version of the chorus that’s been chopped and pitched to perfection. The instrumental is compelling, the vocals are strong without being overstated, and the song is incredibly dynamic, sliding subtly into the next.
“Starry Eyes” is a rare moment of self reflection and vulnerability for Abel. Rife with heartbreak, swooping instrumentals, and mournful belting, the previously distant and womanising singer pleads for the object of his affections to “break him” and “kick him to the curb” should she need to, as long as he is allowed to be in her life. This is a refreshing and humanizing moment, for despite his notorious reputation for adultery, drugs, mindless sex, and infidelity, we’re reminded that perhaps celebrities can feel too.
“Every Angel is Terrifying” yanks us into a bizarre, black-mirror esque infomercial for “[our] invitation” to order “After Life.” An eerie perversion of a common overzealous TV ad special, “critics say ‘After Life’ makes your current life look like a total comatose snooze fest.”
“Don’t Break My Heart” is an underrated gem. You know those songs that sound gleeful, but are actually quite dark in subject matter (re: something like Foster the People’s “Pumped up Kicks”)? With a sound fit for the “discotheque” mentioned in the song, I’m just imagining dancing my soul out to this track in a club— Omicron pending— atop bleak lyrics like “I can’t take another heartbreak, or I’ll end it all.”
Admittedly, “I Heard You’re Married” isn’t my favourite track. Musically it’s not the most interesting, and Lil Wayne’s verse feels a bit out of place. Every album has to have one, however, and at least this song is still generally pleasant to listen to. It also prompts some interesting questions about the subject matter too: which of Abel’s past flames are married now? Is she someone we’d know— perhaps under a name rhyming with “Bariana Brande?” (If I could insert emojis into my articles, I’d put the one that’s just a pair of eyes looking off to the left here).
“Less Than Zero,” as the last musical track on the album, is incredibly strong. Thematically, this song is essentially a crushing self-realisation of “damn… I ain’t shit.” This is expressed a lot more eloquently, however. In terms of instrumentals, vocals, lyrics and production, this track is catchy, cohesive, and stunning. Its chorus is powerful in its simplicity, and will get stuck in your head for days. (The gag here is that one of the main lines is “now I can’t get it out of my head”).
“Phantom Regret by Jim” draws the album to a close with another monologue. Atop soft background instrumentals and vocals by Abel, Jim Carrey reads us a poem. As far as prose goes, it’s beautifully constructed and profound. My favourite segment is as follows:
If pain’s living on when your body’s long gone
And your phantom regret hasn’t let it go yet
You may not have died in the way that you must
All spectres are haunted by their own lack of trust.
Sheesh! Chills, amirite?
Musically, the album is both complex and incredibly cohesive. With its thoughtful production, Dawn FM maintains a sound that is simultaneously futuristic and reminiscent of 80s funk-pop, across both its dancier hits and its slower ballads.
Thematically, the album knows exactly what it wants to be. Various spoken interludes really drive home the “radio station” motif that it aims to create, and deliberately lofty language employs pseudo-religious metaphors that give the album an eerier undertone.
Allusions to things like “dawn,” “After Life” and death give the impression that this album is perhaps a sort of purgatory within a larger narrative construction between The Weeknd’s other works. Considering his last project After Hours was set in the late night (or after hours) of Las Vegas, perhaps the dawn situates itself as the transition into a new day/era. This is further supplemented by Dawn FM’s peculiar cover, featuring the singer depicted as a weathered old man. Not only are the album’s “radio” esque segments reminiscent of an easy listening station that a grandfather would like, but perhaps the bandaged-faced persona established on After Hours has aged to the end of his life on this project, singing from the liminal space between life and death as the dawn gives way to his musical afterlife.