The Weeknd Channels the Intimate Immediacy of the FM Graveyard Shift

Late night radio host’s initial thoughts on Dawn FM

“It’s 5 AM my time again, I’ve soaken up the moon, can’t sleep,” The Weeknd warbles atop the jittery drum programming and descending bass synth of “Gasoline,” immediately orienting the listener in that peculiar moment when today sits in limbo, not yet immortalized in yesterday’s past tense, nor fully gestated for emergence from tomorrow’s cocoon.

“It’s 5 AM my time again, I’m calling, and you know it’s me.” Now a where has been added to the when. For me, it’s the dimly lit studio of the 3000-watt community station where I hosted my first radio show during those eeriest hours of transition. If I had a dollar for every time I picked up a hotline call that began that way essentially in tone- if not exact phrasing-I probably would have had enough to bribe my way to a more visible time slot.

Not that I would trade my time on the graveyard shift. Late night radio breeds an intimate immediacy between host, listener, and music that isn’t replicable in any other part of the day. That’s the feeling The Weeknd aims to foster on his haunted and haunting new album, Dawn FM.

Narrated by the overnight host on the titular radio station voiced by a self-consciously bassy Jim Carrey (ugh), Dawn FM is an aural journey through the existential reckoning invariably wrought from the right combination of music and moment.

In the still of the night, isolation echoes, like the reverb on the vocals of “Gasoline,” conjuring the ghosts of mistakes past and the haunting specter of what-if. We cry out for connection, like the Weeknd’s increasingly frantic vocals atop the discopocalyptic synth bed of “Take My Breath.” We stew in regret, like the claustrophobic sci-fi funk of “Sacrifice.”

We reach out to the night itself, telling our truths to the darkness to hear them aloud while secure in the anonymity gifted by the shadows. In “A Tale By Quincy,” legendary producer/composer Quincy Jones bares his soul in a stream of consciousness confessional recounting the trauma of his childhood and its impact on his adult relationships. It reminded me of countless calls I took between mic breaks.

Some listeners wanted to request a song. Others wanted to make a dedication. But there was always a story. Some just wanted to tell the story.

As Dawn FM progresses, the interludes spell out with increasing specificity that the album’s musical journey is supposed to represent purgatory, with the radio station offering spiritual guidance. Taken literally, it’s a corny conceit ham-handedly executed, an over-the-top indulgence of The Weeknd’s long-standing penchant for melodrama.

But having been in the air chair as night gave way to morning, it feels apt if taken as a metaphor. As I accumulated a cadre of regular callers, I began to see my role as a guide of sorts, curating their journey to a new beginning through sounds and words.

“Out of Time” is the Dawn FM track I would have immediately added to my rotation, likely talking it up with a riff on tomorrow and the actions, decisions, and choices we perennially push to the next day.

“Tomorrow is now today. One day tomorrow won’t come, and we’ll be out of time, like the latest from The Weeknd” I’d tag the detour before, hitting post impeccably and letting the track’s champaign soul bounce and plaintive falsetto do the heavy lifting. (Any radio alum will forever feel palpable excitement when presented with a 22-second intro to talk over.)

Dawn FM doesn’t showcase The Weeknd’s most creative lyricism, but the straightforward confessional tone adds to the intimacy of the project. Tracks like “Best Friends” and “Is There Someone Else” grapple with the fallout of affairs of the heart gone sideways, from which so many of my callers sought solace.

What I was genuinely waiting for was a good sunrise song- the cut begging to be dropped at the precise moment the sun begins its slow ascension. I always watched the sky carefully from the studio window, careful not to miss the moment, and prided myself on always having the perfect song ready to roll.

Dawn FM delivers resoundingly with “Less Than Zero.” After 46 minutes of existential struggle, the album’s final track offers a stunning catharsis of quiet acceptance. The musical similarities to The Weeknd’s 2020 hit “Save Your Tears” feel more than coincidental, given the thematic mirroring accompanying them. While “Save Your Tears” played out as a plea for reconciliation, “Less Than Zero” owns the hurt from yesterday’s lost love while coming to terms with the stark truth that it’s tomorrow’s past.

While the muted guitar and loose drums that begin the song seem to wallow in the remnants of the dark, the rising synths ascend like the sun into the full-throated chorus, in which, eyes wide open and at an uneasy peace with his flaws, The Weeknd chooses freedom over love.

I can’t imagine listening to Dawn FM in the light of day. While the songs are stellar and the vocals reliably emotive, the true star here is the atmosphere; that 5 AM feeling when the electrons are vibrating at a higher frequency, at once heightening sensation and dulling inhibition.

It’s that feeling that compelled my callers to unburden their id with a heavy-voiced stranger week after week. It’s the same feeling that I suspect will keep music fans returning to Dawn FM in the moments between yesterday and tomorrow for many days to come.