R&B gets weirdly, wonderfully introspective – Frank Ocean & The Weeknd
What the hell is R&B in 2011? I don’t know – and I don’t think R&B knows any longer – at least that’s the vibe I get out of the two artists I listened to most this year: Frank Ocean and The Weeknd.
Frank Ocean is probably the more traditional of the two - there’s still plenty of come hither here, but it’s undercut by a willingness to be brutally honest (with himself most of all) and show a rare vulnerability, or even better, a willingness to follow his narrative where his imagination takes him – whether that’s driving an Oldsmobile into the ocean or smoking Novacane-laced drugs and dreaming of Stanley Kubrick.
The Weeknd shares a penchant for honesty, but it’s the cruellest kind. This Toronto outfit deals in empty promises and empty bodies, but buries it under pretty textures and softly cooed R&B tropes. Despite often falling into the familiar R. Kelly trap of boasts and bragging, there’s something unsettlingly sociopathic about it. It's a fascinating case of beautiful people singing songs about other beautiful people being the worst kind of monsters.
What the hell is R&B in 2011? I don’t know – and I don’t think R&B knows any longer – at least that’s the vibe I get out of the two artists I listened to most this year: Frank Ocean and The Weeknd.
Frank Ocean is probably the more traditional of the two - there’s still plenty of come hither here, but it’s undercut by a willingness to be brutally honest (with himself most of all) and show a rare vulnerability, or even better, a willingness to follow his narrative where his imagination takes him – whether that’s driving an Oldsmobile into the ocean or smoking Novacane-laced drugs and dreaming of Stanley Kubrick.
The Weeknd shares a penchant for honesty, but it’s the cruellest kind. This Toronto outfit deals in empty promises and empty bodies, but buries it under pretty textures and softly cooed R&B tropes. Despite often falling into the familiar R. Kelly trap of boasts and bragging, there’s something unsettlingly sociopathic about it. It's a fascinating case of beautiful people singing songs about other beautiful people being the worst kind of monsters.
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