Featured image: Sub Khan

Manchester’s Etihad Stadium has seen its fair share of giants, but on this warm summer night it feels as though it has been swallowed whole by a different universe. The Weeknd and his crew bring the music trilogy he has meticulously curated for years to life in Manchester, creating an other-worldly event that draws the masses. From anonymously uploading tracks to YouTube to becoming Spotify’s most-streamed artist in the world, The Weeknd (the stage name of Canadian singer-songwriter Abel Tesfaye) arrives in Manchester at the top of his game.

Before The Weeknd even touches the stage, Playboi Carti tears through the calm with a set that feels less like a warm‑up and more like a rave. Emerging from Atlanta’s underground scene, Carti first gained attention on SoundCloud, where his minimalist beats, hypnotic flows, and ad‑lib‑heavy delivery set him apart from the more traditional trap artists around him, helping him to pioneer the rage microgenre. Here, Carti stalks the stage in a haze of red beams and smoke, his voice ricocheting off the stands as the pitch erupts into pockets of movement. ‘Sky’, ‘Rockstar Made’, ‘Stop Breathing’ provide a whirlwind tour through his discography, each track hitting like a flare shot into the night. His fans scream every word; everyone else simply holds on. By the time he vanishes into the smoke with  a burst of fireworks; the stadium vibrates with adrenaline, ready for the main event.

A single hum rolls across the stadium: low, metallic, almost mechanical. The whole venue is  ‘Baptised In Fear’ as The Weeknd emerges into the centre of his runway, the towering Soryama golden chrome statue beside him. As the track closes, Abel repeats “voices will tell me I should carry on” over and over, louder with every repetition. It then explodes into the highly energetic ‘Open Hearts’, and the show  is well and truly underway. His voice is pristine: cold, aching and impossibly controlled, while the stage lights up in deep crimson. The Stargirl dancers drift into view, their movements sharp and hypnotic. 

This Manchester setlist isn’t just long – it is architectural: a deliberate climb through eras, moods, and emotional landscapes. Fan favourite ‘After Hours’ arrives early, before giving way to throwback hits ‘Starboy’ and ‘Heartless’, while the visuals behind him glitch like a corrupted memory. ‘Cry For Me’ and ‘I Can’t F***ing Sing’ showcase the technical side of his talent, with the more vulnerable corners of his artistry popping out to remind us what got him to this stage in the first place.

Carti re‑emerges for ‘Timeless’ and ‘RATHER LIE’, and the stadium erupts. Their chemistry is  electric – Carti’s unhinged energy hyping up the crowd colliding with Tesfaye icy precision.

Then a chopped‑up intro of ‘House of Balloons’ echoes across the Etihad, and hundreds of giant chrome balloons rain from what seems like nowhere. The stadium transforms into a monochrome dreamscape, while The Weeknd lets the crowd take the chorus, smiling as the balloons bounce across a sea of hands.

The first synth of ‘Moth to a Flame’ hits as an explosion of fire roars behind. By the end of the song, the stage erupts in a wall of fireworks; pyro jets roar along the runway, golden sparklers cascade, and lasers burst from the statue’s eyes, sweeping across the stadium in perfect sync. Heat rolls across the crowd as Abel stands centre‑stage, bathed in firelight, delivering the track with a calm intensity that made the spectacle around him feel almost supernatural.

The Weeknd doesn’t just perform; he constructs a universe and lets Manchester live inside it for two hours. A universe of chrome gods, neon heartbreak and apocalyptic beauty. A universe where pop becomes theatre, theatre becomes cinema, and cinema becomes something you feel in your bones.