Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash
By Daltrey Granoff, Contributing Writer
On Feb. 7, much of the country gathered around their TVs (remaining socially distanced, I hope) to tune in for the annual NFL Super Bowl, ready to see one team bring home the Lombardi trophy. Some were siding with the Kansas City Chiefs and Patrick Mahomes, some chose to side with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and Tom Brady and some were there for the commercials.
I, like many others, was watching and rooting for someone. However, as much I enjoy a good game of football and the charm of rival quarterbacks, I was captivated at halftime for 14 minutes and 11 seconds in support of my hero that day: Abel Tesfaye, who more humbly is referred to as The Weeknd.
As someone who has been a fan of The Weeknd for over a decade, this moment was a long time coming. Tesfaye was once homeless in Toronto, creating music and releasing mixtapes that were ahead of their time with the help of a small team that is still with him today.
On Sunday night he was the center of attention, recognized as worthy enough to entertain America during the largest sports event of the year. I was inspired and proud, yet the experience was bittersweet.
Ever since I first listened to The Weeknd, back when his music was only on YouTube and random blog posts, I knew that he was special. His music was dark, edgy and mysterious, much like his reputation over the first five years of his career.
No one knew much about him. All they knew was that every song he released, on every mixtape and album, was solid gold. They were catchy, haunting, raw and dared to speak candidly about emotions and thoughts that we typically hide away. Tesfaye was real. He was humble, shy even and not yet ready to face the imminent fame that was being catapulted towards him.
I have spent the last 10 years analyzing and dissecting his work. From the way he matches bright and shiny music with intense and brooding lyrics to his outlook on fame and Hollywood, The Weeknd has always been consistent and true to himself.
As an artist, he has always inspired me by the way he makes creating music seem effortless. I envy how well he speaks to our innermost feelings, our animalistic instincts as humans and turns them into addicting singles.
As his popularity rose, and the world started to recognize the starpower of Abel Tesfaye, I was resistant to the thought of sharing him. I watched as he became less and less my secret savior, my confidant, my hidden gem and truly came to “Belong to the World.”
Other fans who watched the halftime show on Sunday may have seen the voice behind the smash hit “Blinding Lights” for the first time. Some might recognize him from other radio hits such as “I Can’t Feel My Face When I’m With You” or “I Feel It Coming,” while others may have been on the bandwagon since “Fifty Shades of Gray” was smart enough to request “Earned It,” a song that will be forever used for making babies.
However, I was watching a kid from Toronto, who no one knew, do what he does best. I watched a man who spent the last five months curating a narrative about the fakeness of Hollywood, the obsessive need for validation and the lengths we go to in trying to achieve it. “After Hours,” his latest album, told the story of a bad night in Las Vegas that led to desperate attempts to change appearances to be loved and accepted by Hollywood and the music industry.
At the Super Bowl, Tesfaye performed the finale of this tale, as himself, doing what he does best with no guests, nothing but his voice and his talent. And he killed it.
The performance was an homage to all the hard work he’s done, a thank you to his fans from day one (XO to the death), a spit in the face at the Grammy’s who horribly snubbed him and an industry that is more political than fair. No makeup, no bandages, no plastic surgery. Just The Weeknd. I was breathless, misty eyed and painfully proud. He truly is a Starboy.