The Weeknd fans have long been divided into two camps. The first one demands every release to return to its minor origins. The second enjoys The Weeknd’s transformation into a stadium artist and the major sentiments of the new songs. My Dear Melancholy,” manages to be both a holiday in the streets of the former and a great gift for the latter. And – more importantly – at the same time to discover a new side of Abel.

He may have dedicated songs to specific girls before. But we fell in love with him not for the heartbreaking ballads, but for the songs, first filled with endless gloom and despair, and later – with gloss and all the charms of life of a rich and successful pop-artist. Girls were present there, too. But often in the plural and deep feelings were not even close to being talked about.

“Melancholy” brought together the best features of the sound of The Weeknd’s previous releases. From “Trilogy” and “Kiss Land,” there’s a haunting sense of perpetual anxiety. From “Beauty Behind the Madness” and “Starboy” comes a sprawling, rich sound. Thanks to another Canadian, Frank Dukes, who started with Drake’s “0 to 100” and then switched to large-scale pop works, including Lorde’s album “Melodrama”.

The album’s successful experiment is “Wasted Times,” which has Skrillex’s hand in an unexpected twist on the British two-step legacy. The album also features two Frenchmen – producer Gesaffelstein, known for his work on “Yeezus”, and Guy-Manuel – one half of the Daft Punk duo.

“My Dear Melancholy,” is a dedication to two very specific women at once. The first is model Bella Hadid. The second is the singer Selena Gomez. And if the first one here is dedicated to the most beautiful and kind lines of the Canadian’s career, then Gomez gave all The Weeknd fans back a sample of his debut trilogy. But if there he dedicated the songs to addiction and casual relationships, on “Melancholia,” Abel seems closer to his listener than ever. A man going through not the easiest of breakups.

The Tenths’ main statement on betrayal is generally considered to be Beyonce’s album “Lemonade.” It, too, is a surprisingly personal work for one of the major stars of a generation. But “Lemonade” is also a fiction that had a lot of talented people working on it.

And “My Dear Melancholy,” is a terribly honest album. What had previously been gossip blog material becomes facts and public domain here. The Weeknd, who used to threaten to sleep with all the girls in his town, reveals himself.

He admits that he lied when he said he didn’t feel anything and was willing to rip out a piece of himself for a girl. It’s not a vulgar metaphor, but a reference to a very real event — Selena Gomez had a kidney transplant in August. The donor ended up not being Abel himself, but a close friend of hers.

This line was by far the most quoted line on the release, but the album’s highlight is the final song “Privilege.” He also dedicates it to Selena, but The Weeknd quickly comes to the forefront. And he says he’ll be fine. Pills will kick out the sadness, alcohol can always drown out the pain.

That’s the talent of a great artist: to talk about personal suffering in a way that doesn’t seem insincere as an actor.