Redundancy sells. From one car to the next, the radio is constantly ruining quality musicians to fit the cookie-cutter standards of overproduced synthesizer and electronic drum beats.

March 20, The Weeknd’s what was once, sultry, sensual, orgasmic records became another sellout. “My Dear Melancholy,” another product of Republic Records, the sister company to big-time Universal Music Group, didn’t get listeners to vibe, but to fall asleep.

The entire album is a flop. After the success of “Starboy,” an electronic, upbeat, club-worthy album, and admitting to Zane Lowe had it’d be a step towards a new chronicle, it doesn’t add up.

“Starboys” hit singles, “False Alarm” and “Starboy” have every quality for a killer successful tune: redundant use of the “n” word, overlapping voices to craft a harmony, and beat drop at the last bridge. I can’t fathom what went wrong with “My Dear Melancholy,” but the one night stand influenced “ballads” Tesfaye cowrote aren’t anything special.

Now, don’t get me wrong, they’re not horrible, but compared to his past work, the hype isn’t worth it. The one characteristic that has been consistent from album to album is his captivating beat; no matter how overwhelming the synthesizer may be, I can’t stop listening; the cringe-worthy lyrics off the 2018 additions, “Wasted Times” and “Call Out My Name” are justified for the ever so catchy undertone. I mean, “call out my name when I kiss you so gently,” isn’t exactly original; he could do better.

If R&B is your thing, and you have this undying desire to listen to The Weeknd, then give “Starboy” or the “Beauty Behind The Madness,” a listen. They use fewer derogatory terms, utilize the beauty of actual instruments, and the overlapping voice harmonies are solid contributors to the message or lack there is of one. As one who is not aiming to be a cynical brat, but definitely, compare “My Dear Melancholy” to his older releases; it’ll be worth it.