(XO Music/Republic)
On a somewhat exhausting sixth album, Abel Tesfaye uses Brazilian funk, punishing house and lush 70s soul to press great songs into the service of rotten lyrics

It takes precisely 20 seconds for the Weeknd’s sixth album to imply that it might also be his last. “All I have is my legacy … I’m all alone when it fades to black,” Abel Tesfaye sings over a lush bed of synthesisers that quickly takes on the influence of 80s boogie. It’s a line that feels very on brand. Hurry Up Tomorrow’s release has been promoted with billboards declaring “THE END IS NEAR”, social media posts in which Tesfaye has inferred the album is the final “beautiful chapter” in his story and interviews during which he’s suggested that a 2022 incident in which he lost his voice on stage was some kind of cosmic message: “You can end it now … when is the right time to leave if not at your peak?”

It is perhaps worth noting that the same was true of his last album more-or-less: 2022’s Dawn FM was rich with end-times imagery, mentions of the afterlife and arrived accompanied by interviews in which Tesfaye announced his desire to “remove the Weeknd from the world”. A cynic might suggest that implying he’s about to retire – or at least retire the Weeknd persona that he has inhabited for the last 13 years – now seems part of his release strategy. In fairness, it feels a lot more explicit this time around. One theory is that Tesfaye is more interested in pursuing a career in film, something viewers of The Idol, the abysmal drama series he co-wrote and starred in in 2023, might consider less of a career move than a terrible threat.

She went from being Jarvis Cocker‘s backing singer to a Grammy-nominated purveyor of ‘wonky funk’, before being set back by chronic fatigue syndrome. But on fourth album Jupiter, she’s learned to ‘ride the waves’

Nao is trying to articulate how it feels to be on the verge of releasing a new album. When this thing that’s been yours and yours alone has to be launched into the world. “It feels really similar to being pregnant,” the 37-year-old mum of two decides. Her answer feels apt; we’re currently sitting in an east London cinema cafe hemmed in by buggies while a mum-and-baby screening of erotic thriller Babygirl plays next door. “It’s really exciting in the beginning, then it gets a bit tedious,” she continues. “And you’re stuck in the process because you need to finish it. Get it out.” Sometimes, she says, it can also be just as painful.

Not that you’d know it from listening to this month’s fourth album, Jupiter, a typically featherlight concoction of pillow-soft soul, experimental R&B and airy acoustic ruminations all anchored by her angelic, otherworldly voice. It also carries just a dash of the electronic-leaning “wonky funk” that saw Nao (born Neo Joshua) hailed as one to watch when she emerged in 2015. But Jupiter’s overarching sense of contentment has been hard won after years spent battling an illness that prevented her from touring.