When Nicki flung a domestic object at Safaree for failing to bring home the “proper” brand of melba toast, the writing was on the wall. She thought to herself, “I thought he knew me well, I guess we’ve grown apart.” Nicki is immune to change, the way a beetle undergoes metamorphosis, or so she came to realize. Naturally she sought the healing power of a platonic friend, someone she could pat on the back and say “Buddy I’ve got a fondue set with your name on it.” In doing so, she found The Weeknd to be a willing partner. Together they sang “Thought I Knew You,” within an earshot of their estranged lovers, and it felt so right yes it did.
The excitable thump of “Thought I Knew So” is a few arpeggios short of club rotation. It’s as if Nicki was seeking emotional respite with one foot out the door. She laments a broken dynamic, but is somehow unable to remember her steps, the motions of a humorless yet celibate woman. The Weeknd is several years her junior, but no less repugnant. Both hold their nurturing abilities in high regard.
Don’t get gassed.