The 50 Best Weeknd Songs

One of the Weeknd’s cooler, earlier tricks is the goth level of melodrama with which he infused his work. “Pretty,” from his debut full-length, Kiss Land, takes an industrial level of synth dread and drum clatter and sets it to the time-honored tale of the road dog coming home to his partner, who may or may not have cheated. Conclusion: He’ll make you feel beautiful if only because it helps him keep the demons at bay. —J.G.

The foggy darkness of “The Fall” is a vintage remnant of the Weeknd’s bleakest, most sedated soundscapes. A chugging beat and ominous, choir-like vocals nearly drown him out, but his slightly moribund voice continues with the steely resolve of someone who intimately knows rock bottom. And though the production comes from his early-aughts mixtape era, it’s also ahead of its time, feeling like something that could easily soundtrack a depressing episode of Euphoria. —J.L.

The Weeknd’s R&B plot twist is that his falsetto croon, cunning production, and vulnerable charisma offer a tender caress until you find out that love is really a serial killer hiding in the closet. Inspired by the replicant Roy Batta’s dying monologue in Blade Runner, this gorgeous ballad is a spectacular bell tower of distorted guitar and rippling synths that gives you goose bumps. Too bad you’re lying next to the toilet. —C.A.

Call him “El Fin de Semana.” The singer takes a complete turn from his typical R&B style as he joins Rosalía on the electro-bachata track about the downsides of fame. The Weeknd sings in perfect Spanish as his vocals channel the likes of bachata legend Romeo Santos. —T.M.

Emerging from the dusted carnage of “The Party & the Afterparty,” this might be Tesfaye’s most emotionally resonant performance. A cold wind blows past a twinkly, taunting mini-motif as various intoxicating agents exit his system. Racked with regret, he convincingly plays the fallen prince; his ah-ahs, la-la-las, and refrain of “I always want you when I’m coming down” are acutely relatable. —C.A.

This criminally underrated duet is a true relic of the fleeting 50 Shades of Grey-era of 2010s gloom pop, sung and co-written by the genre’s foremost falsettos: the Weeknd and Lana Del Rey. “I’ve inspired her, she’s inspired me,” Tesfaye said at the time. “I feel like we’ve always been talking to each other through our music.” Together for the first time, they sing “I’m addicted to a life that’s empty and cold,” like two dark souls twisting in the wind. —S.G.

Perhaps the Weeknd was worried his major-label debut wouldn’t be perceived as authentically malevolent. The title track settles that — a disorienting din of post-industrial drone and moan, plus oral-sex quips and a witchy brew of booze, blow, and pills. Cloudrap producer Silky Johnson sustains a K-hole of suspense so when Tesfaye cries, “Goddamn, I’m high,” it’s actually startling. —C.A.

The first song co-written with pop magus Max Martin, “In the Night” conjures an Eighties neon raincloud with a whoosh of drum pads, pulsing synths, clattering effects, and Visionquest pathos. Principally, it coaxes Tesfaye’s most openhearted vocal to date. His taut yet fluid phrasing (a nod to Thriller-era Michael Jackson) delivers the story of an abused sex worker with an unusually sincere ache. —C.A.

“Moth to a Flame” is a petty anthem, masking the bitterness with synth, and marks the Weeknd’s first (of hopefully many) collaboration with Swedish House Mafia. Abel’s vocals shine through a biting chorus that effectively ruins the current relationship of his ex. It should come as no surprise that a list of the Weeknd’s best songs doubles as a masterclass in toxicity. —W.A.

The remarkable opening of “Crew Love” is a true test for the Weeknd, pitting the singer’s siren call against a callous, punishing opponent — a mash of crashing cymbals that seems intent on crushing the life out of anything in its path. But the Weeknd’s sweet croon partially camouflages his own militance. His opening line is every bit as cruel and cutting as those cymbals: “Take your nose off my keyboard/What you bothering me for?” And once the Weeknd puts his enemies on their heels, he presses his attack. “This ain’t no fuckin’ singalong,” he snarls prettily. “So, girl, what you singing for?” —E.L.

Oh, the humanity? On this neoclassic Weeknd tale of compulsive wanderlust, boosted by Illangelo’s crisply cavernous, dubstep-tinged production, Tesfaye coos (and even cries out) with new vulnerability about whether a commitment to “real” love/life might be a risk worth taking. Answer: No, “but, girl, I’m so glad we’re acquainted.” —C.A.

Released as a Soundcloud track and a YouTube video in commemoration of his 2014 “King of the Fall” Tour, this is a fan favorite that didn’t get added to streaming services until nearly six years later. It finds the Weeknd at his most insouciantly boastful: “’Bout to leave the crib with a couple of my pirates/Driving by the streets we used to walk through like a triumph,” he sings. Produced with help from Jason “DaHeala” Quenneville, “King of the Fall” has a thrilling, uncompromising edge. When he says, “If you ain’t with me, motherfucker, you against me,” you can feel the tension in his words. “Ain’t nobody can stop me.” —M.R.

This first single from the 2020 album After Hours finds our hero self-consciously returning to his baller ways, grabbing some of his pals (co-writers Metro Boomin, Illangelo, and Dre Moon), loading up on subdermal bass and trappin’ hi-hats and heading out for a night of licking toads, getting ladies high, and spilling whiskey on himself. Once again, he’s in full players-playing mode and he doesn’t make it sound very fun at all. —J.G.

On the Weeknd’s most intense recorded reckoning, our unreliable narrator delivers a harrowing moral: Don’t fall for self-obsessed, predatory fiends (like me) or somebody will suffer. Forever. Producers Illangelo and Doc McKinney underscore the point — sobs and a gunshot bleed into reverbed whirlpools of decaying surf guitar, an unforgiving snare thud, and Marina Topley-Bird croaking “sandpaper kisses, paper-cut bliss” like Madame Lamort. Then the crows caw a bitter adieu. —C.A.

When Republic Records introduced its hot new R&B act to the world, it used an old-fashioned tactic (Trojan Horse) the new-fashioned way: an Ariana Grande song. Produced by Max Martin, “Love Me Harder” is a coy, synth-driven jam about the joys of rough sex. What takes it to that next level is the indelible way Grande’s sumptuous vocals ricochet off of the Weeknd’s icy falsetto. Two great artists in their own right. But like Pat and Neil, these two just belong together. —S.G.

“Loft Music” is one of Abel Tesfaye’s quintessential baby-making moments and a standout from his debut mixtape, House of Balloons. During the chorusless first half of the track, the Weeknd convinces a woman that “baby, it’s OK” for them to hook up, while the second half features a haunting, three-minute outro. —T.M.

“Adaptation” is Kiss Land‘s most direct tour-life lament, essentially Massive Attack featuring the Weeknd, slightly pitch-shifted. Over a breakbeat loop, an eerie echo chamber, and a gnarled, ghostly sample of the Police’s “Bring on the Night,” Tesfaye explores his vocal range and imagines tipsy young models as vessels of pure, uncut love. It all sounds exquisite, but his regret is a false confession. —C.A.

It’s appropriate that the Weeknd at his most publicly distraught — after breakups with tabloid damsels Selena Gomez and Bella Hadid — would be soundtracked by elegant techno brutalist Mike “Gesaffelstein” Lévy. Hello, stylish dystopia. A piercing synth siren swoons and keens above clacking desolation; when the beat later brightens to a warped gurgle, Tesfaye turns spiteful, suicidal. Call it his safe space. —C.A.

“I know it hurts to smile, but you try to,” Tesfaye croons to his dirty Diana through the smoky air. Can’t you feel the weight of his stare? “In Your Eyes” has such a suave Eighties groove, it takes real concentration to appreciate its manifold layers. Tesfaye mined late New Wave bands like Roxy Music, A-Ha, and Cocteau Twins for the song’s backbone, let Max Martin do his pop wizardry, and let the sax rip. —S.G.

On this theatrical text to an ex, the Weeknd tries acceptance! Co-producer Frank Dukes suspends the mournful inamorato amid a swell of supportively filtered keys, and Tesfaye counsels himself to move on. But a fingersnap beat enters and he instinctively reaches for his old woes. Synths encase everything, his multitracked wail fades to vocoded static, and it’s clear: litigating sin is his one forever love. —C.A.

Coming on like Smokey Robinson at a black mass, Tesfaye crooks a finger, howls into the death-rock void, and cues the riding-crop percussion. Is this just another dubiously consensual orgy between a rich, coked-out female fan and some fame-adjacent, coked-out music bros? Or does the woman actually represent Tesfaye’s conflicted feelings about his own career choices? Regardless, be careful out there, kids. —C.A.

Just when you think the Weeknd has finally released a vacuous little earworm of a pop song, he twists the knife. “I saw you dancing in a crowded room/You look so happy when I’m not with you,” he sings. It would be like if you took “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” and replaced Mickey Thomas with Sade. This love-forsaken-at-the-club song wouldn’t be anything without Grande. Together, their voices are indestructible, which makes this particular song all the more harrowing. —S.G.

The Weeknd sounds alluring on “Try Me,” a highlight from 2018’s My Dear Melancholy. The EP swirls with romantic anguish and the singer’s high-profile breakups; “Try Me,” where he pleads for an ex-girlfriend to come back to him in haunting, gauzy tones, is no different. Some listeners speculated that this was his attempt to recapture his House of Balloons-era bona fides after the world conquering Starboy. But when he sings lyrics like “Once you put your pride aside, you know where to find me,” he sounds sincere. —M.R.

“Wanderlust” hinted at the brightly uptempo, Eighties-inspired pop that eventually launched the Weeknd to superstardom.  Produced with help from DannyBoyStyles and DaHeala, it makes fanciful use of Dutch group Fox the Fox’s 1984 synth-pop hit “Precious Little Diamond,” as the Weeknd depicts a La Dolce Vita life that’s full of thrills and short on love and commitment. It’s a metaphor for the first rush of success, and a predictor of bigger fame to come. —M.R.

On a trap-chic stroll through the Weeknd’s hipster rags-to-branded-riches story (Morayama, Coachella, and Mercedes are name-checked), Starboy relies on the lovely lilt of his voice to redeem pop-rap groaners like “futuristic sex, give her Philip K. Dick.” And it does, buoyed by a suave whoosh here and chilly wobble there. —C.A.

‘Can we meet in the middle,” the Weeknd offers over the elegant romanticism of “Less Than Zero.” His despair has rarely sounded so vulnerable, and his need to connect has rarely seemed so genuine, as he reaches out further and further with each new ascending keyboard bloop. The result might be his greatest slow-dance entreaty. —J.D.

Compared to the slick dance pop found elsewhere on Beauty Behind the Madness, “Shameless” is an outlier. A stripped-down acoustic ballad that has shades of peak-period Seal, “Shameless” is a triumph of cringe for the Weeknd. “I’ll always be there for you girl, I have no shame,” he swears to a sometime lover who doesn’t want anything from him except the oblivion of a good lay. It’s icky, and the slippery, pornographic guitar solo at the end only adds to the feeling of self-loathing sleaze. —J.F.

The stunning closer from Starboy, the Weeknd’s Michael Jacksonesque voice flows freely over Daft Punk’s retro-futuristic, Eighties-inspired disco-pop production. Lyrically, the Weeknd sheds his lustful approach to sex as he assures the object of his desire that she shouldn’t be so afraid of falling in love. —T.M.

If there’s a song that captures the Weeknd’s determined progression from brooding club lurker to incandescent pop king, it’s “After Hours,” which starts with echoey synth acrobatics from his early releases. A dance beat trickles in slowly — just hints of it at first — and eventually takes over, thrusting the Weeknd closer to the melodic maximalism that swept him up and blasted him to superstardom. —J.L.

It takes a lot of skill to make desperation sound catchy, but the Weeknd barely bats an eye as he combines iridescent synth-pop with his urgent, pleading falsetto on “How Do I Make You Love Me.” Just when it seems like he’s reached a breaking point, the song becomes a freeform experiment in electro blips and bleeps that seamlessly transitions into “Take My Breath,” highlighting the tightknit sonic universe of Dawn FM. —J.L.

There’s something singular about “Hardest to Love,” its drum and bass break beat setting it apart from nearly everything else in the Weeknd’s catalog, to say nothing of the North American pop charts (it would obviously feel less out of place in the U.K.). Yet the song doesn’t feel like some tossed off genre experiment or blatant play for a new audience. It remains a quintessential Weeknd tune, that distinct drum and bass groove paired perfectly with woozy, weeping-willow synths and Tesfaye’s heart-melting, self-flagellating vocals. —J.B.…

After “Earned It” became a massive commercial success, it’s no surprise that the Weeknd returned to the same well a few years later — “Call Out My Name” is another slow-drip ballad set in 6/8 time. But where “Earned It” had those peppy strings and uplifting message (“Girl you’re perfect, you’re always worth it”), “Call Out My Name” is desolate and hollowed out, a parched tale of dependency and despair shot through with the Weeknd’s piercing, anguished wails. “I said I didn’t feel nothing baby,” he sings. “But I lied.” —E.L.

The Weeknd has said that “What You Need” is nothing more than a “sexy R&B song,” but that explanation underplays the kind of emotional power he conjures here. It opens with a loop from Aaliyah’s “Rock the Boat,” and centers on a raw and direct entreaty shorn of contemporary R&B gloss. When critics and fans refer to the Weeknd as a generational artist, particularly in his early years, it’s due to seductive performances like this. —M.R.

“Sidewalks” finds the Weeknd wryly recounting his ascent from growing up without a father and experiencing homelessness to the pop mainstream. “My flow too sick, Kevin Costner couldn’t touch me,” he trills in an Auto-Tuned voice over a guitar-inflected Doc McKinney beat. Meanwhile, Kendrick Lamar responds with a bouncy verse that flips Starboy’s theme about prodigious appetites. “It wasn’t just a random Kendrick Lamar verse,” the Weeknd told Beats 1’s Zane Lowe in 2016. “It was something special.” —M.R.

“The Party and the After Party” not only has a chipmunk sample of dream-pop duo Beach House’s “Master of None” at its center, but also a waltz-like rhythm reminiscent of the Velvet Underground’s “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” The Weeknd’s lyrics betray an impressive attention to detail. “Louis V bag, tats on your arms, high heel shoes make you six feet tall,” he croons. “But I’ve got what you need.” Midway through, the track switches to a highly sexual volley of vocal thrusts and flickering guitar, as he tries to illustrate “the feeling that I’ll give to you.” —M.R.

Over a tear-jerking sample of “Ben Sana Vurgunum,” by Turkish singer Nükhet Duru, the Weeknd boasts about the sexual freedom he gets by being a “young god” in his hometown of Toronto. “She asked me if I do this every day, I said often,” he sings on the chorus. The alt-R&B song gave fans their first taste of the leap forward he was making with Beauty Behind the Madness. —T.M.

After the world-conquering success of Beauty Behind the Madness, the Weeknd could have worked with anyone. He chose Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, who lent an attractive electro gloss to his next chart-topping smash, French-filtering his vocals on the hook as he literally laughed his way to the bank. With its winking lyrics about old Star Trek movies and ivory lines on ebony tables, “Starboy” was also the Weeknd’s chance to show that pop stardom hadn’t changed him — it just made him even cockier. —S.V.L.

This track was originally co-produced by Mike Dean and intended for Kanye West, who co-produces and raps on the bridge here. Framed by a coolly twilit soul sample, Tesfaye croons a list of  basic starboy gripes. but quickly the lyrics grow belligerent, as stabbing piano chords propel an antihero eruption. “Don’t believe the rumors, bitch, I’m still a user,” he smirks, as if he’s pimp-strutting on the ledge. —C.A. 

A response to those criticizing his pivot to a mainstream sound after Beauty Behind the Madness, The Weeknd returns to his vibey, R&B origins, promising he’ll reinvent himself as many times as he wants to. And boy, has he succeeded at it. T.M.

Though the first drowsy lines of “The Morning” masquerade as expected Weeknd club sleaze, the song is a surprisingly radiant hustler’s anthem, catching him at an upbeat moment before the blowback from his late-night debauchery sets in. The electric squeals of a guitar follow him as he builds toward a bursting chorus — and once the peak hits, he sings with the carefree indulgence of someone throwing confetti made of dollar bills into the air. —J.L.

It figures that one of the Weeknd’s most straightforwardly danceable songs would be about a kink so intense that it can literally cause death. Propelled by the titanic melody of Max Martin and collaborators Belly, Andrea Di Ceglie, Luigi Tutolo, and Oscar Holter, “Take My Breath” throbs with the insistent kick drum, funky guitar, and arpeggiated synths of classic Giorgio Moroder. Tesfaye coos soulfully, deploying his upper register while describing a woman who asks to indulge a fantasy that sounds a lot like erotic asphyxiation. “Bring me close to heaven, babe,” she tells him. The extended version on Dawn FM features an instrumental breakdown that shreds Tesfaye’s voice into a guttural wail, further blurring the line between ecstasy and horror. —J.F.

The second half of this track is one of the most viscerally affecting entries in the Weeknd’s whole catalog, as icy and thunderous as an avalanche. He throws himself into the world beyond blotto: Faces are blurring, the drunks are getting mean, and the threat of violence fills the air. The Weeknd’s voice has always drawn comparisons to Michael Jackson’s, but “Glass Table Girls” draws its lineage back to Prince at his most paranoidly perfect. —E.L.

Wherein the most sexually explicit songwriter of the PornHub era makes the lead single for the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack. “Earned It” (and a very-NSFW video) introduced perfectly Tesfaye’s silk-sheets vibe to mainstream ears. Written in D-minor, which, as  Spinal Tap taught us, is the “saddest key,” “Earned It” is  a Grammy-winning chart-topper full of strings severe and seductive, that falsetto and, of course, a love too weird to last. —J.G.