At several junctures, he holds the microphone to the crowd for them to sing the words. All the melodies are memorized but the actual syllables leave them confused—at least until he gets to his hit song about cocaine, and then crowd chants along with a numb euphoria. No one will feel their face until next weekend, when the Weeknd will perform the same songs at Coachella Weeknd 2. I’m sure it’s sold out.

He wakes up with several girls whose names he doesn’t know. Jets of flames and a red laser show lift into the chilled desert air. The girls in front of me triumphantly wave their glow sticks. The Weeknd sings, “Goddamn bitch, I am not a Beach Boy.” No one argues. He sings with intense emotion about being emotion-less. There is the song from the 50 Shades of Grey soundtrack. It’s Nate Dogg on “Ain’t No Fun” if no one actually ever had fun. 50,000 people paying $2000 apiece for the privilege of spending a weekend on a polo field are mesmerized by a pop song about overdosing. The Weeknd belts into oblivion: "The night's too long / I took too much and I've gone too far. And I might not make it.”