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The influence of Michael Jackson on Tesfaye’s melodic choices and vocal delivery has been much commented on and it is certainly present in ‘Starboy’. The title-track and opener sets the tone for the rest of the record heavily influenced by collaborators Daft Punk, it rumbles with an infectiously bass-heavy beat, punctuated by unadorned piano chords and Tesfaye’s clarity of voice, all building to a funk-inflected chorus. Such renewal is hard to find, though, as the majority of the songs on ‘Starboy’ feel like a logical continuation of The Weeknd sound, removing much of the sparse production and languorous sampling of the mixtapes and instead creating tracks aimed squarely at the radio and dance floor. It seems Tesfaye is making a point of an artistic renewal and rebirth with the release of this new album. The cover is coupled with the violent video for the record’s title-track, displaying Tesfaye destroying not only a previous version of himself (complete with ‘palm-tree hair’ as one YouTube commenter puts it) but also a selection of his previous awards and platinum records, all using a giant neon crucifix strangely reminiscent of Kylo Ren’s flaming Star Wars lightsaber. The album’s cover, reminiscent of ‘60s exploitation film posters, depicts Tesfaye brooding at the viewer, a large crucifix dangling from his neck as an emblematic prop. While the ‘Trilogy’ mixtapes had their Polaroid voyeurism and ‘Beauty Behind The Madness’ its plaintive collage, ‘Starboy’ retains Tesfaye’s self-mythologising. ‘Starboy’ remains in keeping with Tesfaye’s previous releases to the extent that it is a visually striking piece of work. With the release of his third studio album, ‘Starboy’, then, it seems The Weeknd is continuing his is quest for pop-R&B superstardom, attendant with a (marginally) cleaner image. Skip to 2016 and Tesfaye has migrated to the mainstream charts, having earned himself a string of Billboard Number Ones from his ‘Beauty Behind The Madness’ release and two wonderfully ironic nominations for Kids’ Choice Awards, including one for the thinly-veiled ode to cocaine addiction, ‘I Can’t Feel My Face’. Tesfaye’s identity was shrouded in mystery, hidden behind his signature falsetto, and when the live shows came along, said falsetto was barely audible over the adulating screams of his largely female fan base. Back in 2011, the little-known Abel Tesfaye, AKA The Weeknd, released a trilogy of critically acclaimed mixtapes all instantly recognisable by their nocturnal aesthetics of sparse, synth-heavy R&B production and lyrics concerning drug overdoses and sexual hedonism.