The American omnipresent megastar returns with a surprise but also widely well-received 11th LP – a twisting, voluminous collection of 31 songs (Anthology version) of luxuriant pop, but packed with extremely caustic, often brilliantly dark, cutting break-up lyrics. Much are aimed at ex-lover Matt Healy of the The 1975 with whom she had a brief thing last year, but there are also double-edged barbs around the culture of fame, tittle-tattle around her private life and other ironic paradoxes. It’s a relentless collection of many vivid observations about relationships, with many a bitter, twisted, vengeful rapier-wit put-down, often wrapped in the soft sheen of shiny, singalong pop. Much has already been written about Taylor’s latest, but here is a selection of some of the highlights …
The title track is filled with vivid lines of a dysfunctional relationship with Healy who apparently brings a typewriter to her house: “You’re not Dylan Thomas / I’m not Patti Smith / This ain’t the Chelsea hotel / We’re modern idiots / And who's gonna hold you like me? Nobody, no-fucking-body, nobody / You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate / We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep / Like a tattooed Golden Retriever.” Meanwhile Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? is a pointed rebuke and fan culture she’s wrapped herself in: “You taught me, you caged me, and then you called me crazy.” The heavily ironic But Daddy I Love Him meanwhile contains this classic aimed at the naysayers about this bad boyfriend. “I’m having his baby / No I’m not but you should see your faces”. Meanwhile the minimalist but macro-vicious The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived, tells presumably Healy that “you deserve prison” and “You said normal girls were ‘boring’ / But you were gone by the morning.” Musically So Long, London is among the most beautiful with its delicate vocal harmonies and electronica, while Guilty As Sin mixes the melodic and cutting in an album that typifies the soft kill as does another deeply ironic I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can). A fascinating insight into a turbulent private life rinsed out through prolific songwriting (also working with co-producers Aaron Dessner of The National and Jack Antonoff), Swift isn’t quite the satirist of her author namesake of the 17th century but is certainly getting everyone talking. Out on Republic.
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