Sometimes it's obvious, as in "False Alarm," where wild stabs of synth and sarcastically blunted lyrics sound clearly indebted to The Smiths and all the better for it. For the most part, though, there's hardly enough inspiration to carry the album past the hour-mark, evident when considering the breadth of influences Tesfaye's pulling from. It's different, and articulates complexities in The Weeknd that otherwise might not have been revealed (' I just want to see you shine / 'cos I know you're a Stargirl'). Take "Stargirl Interlude", where the typically passionless Lana Del Rey provides one of the most exhilarating moments of the album in a brief interlude that threatens The Weeknd's negative sexual impulses. But those moments compose a distinct minority of the album's running time, often leaning towards complacency that frustrates rather than disappoints. And when it seems like Tesfaye's pushing boundaries and toying with different styles, Starboy is a win. At other moments, he takes on boom bap ("Sidewalks") and nu-disco ("I Feel it Coming"), rarely settling but always succeeding. Earlier tracks on the album, like "Rockin'" and "Secrets," entertain the influence of funk and moody synthpop, respectively. The implication of this is that Starboy is completely uninspired and consistently boring, and that's not an entirely fair conclusion to draw.
Fourteen months after Beauty Behind the Madness, it's an artifact that proves, if anything, that Tesfaye has learnt absolutely nothing. Generally speaking though, Starboy is pleasant but unnecessary: spread thin across 18 tracks, it's the same sort of trap balladry that, though consistent in its middling nature, constantly reinvents how bland the notion of experimenting can be. But he does it in such a way only he can, blurring syllables and phrases together, rewarding deeper observation and studious concentration. Take his work with Daft Punk on the title-track of Starboy: although the synths and drum machines can easily be identified, Abel Tesfaye's lyrics portray a fairly standard Svengali archetype.
I can admire The Weeknd's attempts to be an enigma even if it seems like he's not really trying. Review Summary: Misogyny has never sounded so manufactured.