Scarcely a week has gone by since the release of Dawn FM, along with a new video for the second single, “Sacrifice,” and already The Weeknd has chosen to remain fresh (a somewhat ironic word choice here) in our minds with a Matilda Finn-directed visual for “Gasoline.” Except rather than being a “ritual sacrifice on the dance floor” as The Weeknd flickers in and out of being young and old before turning full-stop old in the aforementioned narrative, it’s now just all-out gerontophobia on the dance floor as The Weeknd, in his young guise, battles against his elderly alter ego in what seems to amount to a grand metaphor for despising and being terrified of the old.
Of course, what makes many youths so afraid of the aged is that it is a glimpse into their own future (see: the final scene in Logan’s Run). No one wants to look like that and, more importantly, no one wants to be like that: “out of touch,” “irrelevant.” Our treatment of the old has made it pretty much essential for them to sequester together in nursing homes and rarely be seen in public, save for group-organized activities performed at times of day when few will notice them. Yet we all think that we’ll never get there—“that’ll never be me” (as Miley says on, what else, “Never Be Me”).
Opening with a memorable scene of ants crawling in The Weeknd’s ear (which has headphones in), we then see an eclipse. As though to symbolically indicate the overlapping of two entities that normally never exist on the same plane—i.e. The Weeknd’s young self and his old self. Driving a car with Dawn FM playing on the radio in a scene that vaguely reminds one of Lady Gaga’s own car moment in the video for “Marry the Night,” the signal starts to flicker in and out (as The Weeknd did in the video for “Sacrifice”) before he crashes the car and disembarks from it. The ants crawling on his skin were likely a factor in causing that crash, and soon, they converge onto a puddle that Old Weeknd steps in as lightning cracks through the sky. All at once, he finds himself inside the club—perhaps the very same as the one in “Take My Breath” and “Sacrifice,” perhaps not. In this moment, too, there is a surreal symbolism about the elderly being expected to shy away from such milieus and know their place in society—which is not among environments tailored to youth culture.
With Timbaland having compared Dawn FM to being “on some Thriller shit” (which wasn’t met with an enthusiastic reaction from Michael Jackson fans), there is an element of that particular video in “Gasoline” as zombie-like arms begin to burst through the floor and claw at Old Weeknd, perhaps there to remind him that he doesn’t belong among the youth, and that he ought to be six feet under already. As Young Weeknd makes his way on the scene, signs of rot and decay on other bodies appear, as well as a snake slithering from a woman’s thigh. Young Weeknd looks up at the ceiling with tears in his eyes as he smiles before looking down at the ground in somber acceptance that he’s trapped in this endless party abyss. Again, in so many ways, The Weeknd has ripped off Marcello from La Dolce Vita’s act for most of his career.
As the bud of a flower peeps through a crack in the wall, it quickly blossoms, soon joined by many others that make it look like a wallpaper pattern. It’s at this metaphorical moment when Young Weeknd spots Old Weeknd from across the dance floor. Instantly, he is unnerved. So, too, is Old Weeknd as his young self starts to approach him while something from beneath the ground continues to pull at his legs. Faces in the crowd continue to turn into those of monsters, including Old Weeknd’s as Young Weeknd gets closer. He smacks Old Weeknd’s monster face right off to reveal the old man one again as the crowd circles to watch the fight.
Knocking him to the floor, the frequency pitch in Old Weeknd’s hearing aid/headphone piece alters. There’s a moment of quiet as part of the crowd watches “the eclipse” (meaning they look up to see the dance floor people above them, seemingly in a different realm) with their 3D glasses, and other ghouls/monsters stare back down at “themselves” in the tar-like, yet unclassifiable puddles in the ground. The flower in the wall starts to wilt at a rapid pace, again signaling the ephemerality of youth and the impending bodily decline that actually seems to be desired by many of these club goers.
The music starts up once more as Young Weeknd kicks Old Weeknd in the stomach and spits on him. Old Weeknd tries to fight back, but it’s ultimately no use. He doesn’t have that young person’s strength. And as he lies on the floor barely getting out his last gasps, Young Weeknd, without a second thought, stomps on his face altogether, snuffing him out of existence.
What does it all mean? Maybe The Weeknd wants to say that millennials and Gen Z will triumph over boomer philosophy in the end. Maybe it’s an evergreen commentary on generational divides. Or maybe, at its core, it’s about the gerontophobia we all have as a result of not wanting be deemed “too decrepit” for da club. Even though there’s no such classification in Berlin.
