Think about how some other male R&B artists might have worked with a title like "Kiss Land": in the hands of R. Kelly, perhaps it becomes his latest conceptual dramedy, an inset of the geography surveyed on “Sex Planet”. For Robin Thicke, it could serve as more proof of his insatiable need to be liked and his utter inability to look cool. Like The 20/20 Experience, the name Kiss Land brings to mind a family-friendly theme park overseen by pop music’s most tireless crowd pleaser. And if Miguel made a song called “Kiss Land”, it could be delivered with a wink, total sincerity, or, most likely, some combination thereof. But it's the name of the Weeknd’s first true major-label release, and the title track boasts characteristically lecherous lines like "not really into kisses leading into nothing." As such, Kiss Land scans as unintentionally hilarious, a sign that the project is rushing headlong into self-parody and Abel Tesfaye seems to be the only one who doesn’t realize it.

Given that, it makes sense that Tesfaye has followed up Trilogy, a compilation of his highly influential and gripping 2011 mixtapes, with the rock'n'roll trope that results from ego and self-awareness becoming inversely proportional: a concept album about “life on the road." I could tell you that Kiss Land is dolorous, hook-averse, emotionally despondent, and says appalling things to women 85% of the time, but that was also true of Trilogy. Thing is, the earlier material also had some indelible melodies (mostly on House of Balloons), innovative textures (mostly on Thursday), and all-consuming atmosphere (mostly on Echoes of Silence). Kiss Land does manage some of the latter two qualities, but to seriously diminishing returns.

While it doesn’t stretch far beyond the boundaries established by Trilogy, Kiss Land is a reflection of the Weeknd’s new reality, of what happens when studio nerds have access to massive appearance fees and the finest engineers in the world. A disembodied Emika sample and lithe, menacing drum programming evoke an android sadness on “Professional” that makes Tesfaye actually sound believable when he tries to turn the V.I.P. into “Atrocity Exhibition”. On “Adaptation”, the Police sound as threatening as any of the dancehall apparitions that haunted Yeezus, while on “Belong to the World”, the percussion of Portishead’s “Machine Gun” is slightly reconfigured and jacked up to punishing speed. The best songs here bring the Weeknd closer to where the project started on the comparitively pop-oriented House of Balloons. “Wanderlust” is springy disco that moves with unusual vigor, and in pitching up its vocal samples rather than screwing them down, it imparts Tesfaye getting caught up in the moment, left a little breathless. And while the Drake feature “Live For” is more or less a rewrite of *Take Care’*s “Crew Love”, it signifies happiness even if it doesn’t express it. Otherwise, without any strong melodic tether, songs drift by like the window view from a redeye flight, where the free champagne blurs the bloodshot sunrises and indistinguishable cloud banks.

So while Kiss Land creates an immersive atmosphere, it rarely feels grounded with a sense of place. On Trilogy, Toronto established a tangible setting, where Tesfaye was beginning to become a “somebody in a nobody town”, to quote “Professional”. Sure, he was palling around with Drake and was a star by the time the set was halfway finished, but he was still subject to freezing winters, hanging around club kids still living with their parents, “drinking Alize with our cereal for breakfast.” On “Kiss Land”, Tesfaye moans “I went from staring at the same four walls for 21 years/ To seeing the whole world in just 12 months.” Judging from the results, it's as if the Weeknd has traveled the world only for Tesfaye to realize it revolves around him.

The lyrics are often embarrassing, occasionally nonsensical and not worth quoting at length-- just know that "You can meet me in the room where the kisses ain't free/ You gotta pay with your body" is representative. Everyone here is complicit and compromised, which is key to understanding the draw of such overtly nihilistic music. Overfamiliarity aside, its joylessness becomes some kind of perverse asset. The Weeknd’s world is cruel, but unbiased; the accusations of misogyny are tempered (somewhat) by the fact that Tesfaye appears to mistrust everyone equally, with the exception of Drake. After relaying his frightening regimen of vices during the title track’s unhinged coda, he can only offer the misanthropic defensiveness of an addict: “This ain’t nothing to relate to even if you tried.” Point being, steer clear unless you plan to be as high as he is and are ready to indulge in whatever sexual command strikes his fancy. That's the only lesson in Kiss Land, because Tesfaye at least realizes he’s in no position to judge and doesn’t even seek redemption or your understanding.

The deluxe version of Kiss Land contains a radio remix of “Wanderlust” that isn’t necessary to ensure the record’s success, not when the Weeknd is already playing Radio City Music Hall and Los Angeles’ Greek Theatre twice. Pharrell lends a funkier, lighter production touch to the song but his mere presence is revelatory. As post-Weeknd acts like Banks and PARTYNEXTDOOR crop up, Pharrell serves as a reminder that the R&B/pop zeitgeist consists of songs like “Blurred Lines”, “Get Lucky”, and “Take Back The Night”. These songs might not be a reaction to the Weeknd, but they do suggest that love is more than sex and sex is more than just a transaction. These loving and lovable songs serve as soundtracks for people who go on silly dates, make asses out of themselves at karaoke, get married, attend Bar Mitzvahs, and are capable as seeing everyone and everything as something other than an enabler.

And that turns out to be a lot of us. Kiss Land is technically the Weeknd’s fourth album in two and a half years, and without the ear-turning innovation of the earlier work, all you can muster in reaction to its worldview, the same one that's been delivered repeatedly without variation, is, “Maybe it’s you, man.” Which in a way, vindicates it: Kiss Land sounds every bit as isolated and singular as Tesfaye feels.