In what could be considered a ludicrously audacious move, The Weeknd chose to open Echoes of Silence with a Michael Jackson cover. This, apart from initiating a deluge of #mindblown twitter posts, turns out to be frankly inspired as it fits into the rest of his catalog scarily well. It actually makes you reassess the Jackson original with new found realization of how dark it is, rather than questioning its place here. The initial loops of breathy, shuddering, sighs reinforce this suggestion that the third part of the Balloons trilogy will maintain the lurid atmosphere and thematic concerns of hedonism and intoxication that were established in the first mix-tape of the trilogy, House of Balloons, back in March. Sure enough, the lyrics, when layered together with woozy, faltering synth, convey the obsession with sex and drugs, whilst the undercurrent of violence is reflected in recurrently bellicose production elements: when the drum machine beat comes in on D.D, it cuts through the texture like a gun shot and Outside are intermittently punctuated by blasts evocative of muffled explosions.

This mirroring of form and content is one of the ways that The Weeknd so successfully create and sustain such a complete and fully realized atmosphere. I feel it’s pretty apt that the words ‘seduced’ and ‘addicted’ come to mind when describing the experience of getting into their music. It is by turns both numbing and exhilarating and, as with any display of such relentless excesses, a prolonged encounter becomes harrowing and exhausting. The experiential quality of the Balloons trilogy means that the listener is coerced into vicariously inhabiting the same world as its selfish and debased protagonist.

Tesfaye’s gorgeous falsetto, the single pure thing about The Weeknd, is the perfect antithesis to a darkness which prevents it from cloying as some saccharine R&B vocals can. The stark contrast also creates a frisson when combined with particularly ominous lyrics such as “baby when I’m done with you, why/You ain’t sayin nothin.” There is something compelling about the depraved and monstrous being depicted in such a beautiful way. In the almost unbearably claustrophobic Initiation, however, the vocals have been totally distorted, almost as if the lascivious atmosphere in the ‘two-floor loft’ has become so dense and all encompassing that even Tesfaye’s vocals cannot survive in it intact.

“XO/The Host” opens with wavering, shimmering synth that begins to falter after only a few seconds – another example of a moment of beauty that must immediately be tempered with something fractured and corrupted. When it reappears later it is through a layer of sleaze provided by spidery beats and power chords.

There are two moments that prevent Echoes of Silence from working seamlessly as a complete work: the presumably deliberate jarring transition from The Host into Initiation about which I am still undecided, and the dumb skit by Three 6 Mafia’s Juicy J on “Same Old Song,” which instantly serves to collapse the delicately constructed layers of emotion. Apart from these blips, the fluidity between tracks allows for modulations in tone that span the entire mix-tape. These allow it to depict both the lustful, swaggering peaks and the descents into cynical melancholy inherent in a party lifestyle, as well as high points in particular tracks like the insistent hand clap beat and gospel tinged chorus to the Clams Casino produced The Fall. Like its predecessors, Echoes of Silence is a darkly compelling mix-tape. Letting The Weeknd into your head is never going to feel particularly healthy, but you would also be hard pressed to find another artist this year capable of delivering the same rush.

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