Taylor Swift, caught between yesterday and tomorrow
Taylor Swift has always been at her best when writing about Taylor Swift — she is diaristically pinpoint, a ruthless excavator of her own internal tugs of war. But she also thrives when writing about “Taylor Swift” — the idea, the metanarrative, the character. Swift sees the world seeing her and rather than shut it out, she absorbs it, making those points of view her own, too. Kind of.
It’s those songs that stand out on “Midnights” (Republic Records), her overly familiar sounding and spotty 10th studio album, which is in places a careful recitation of raw love, in others a flashback to past romantic indignities, but maybe most pointedly and effectively a commentary on what it feels like to live as a deeply observed figure, constantly narrativized by others.
“Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, like some kind of congressman?” Swift muses on “Anti-hero,” an eerily shimmering Kate Bushesque number that’s one of the album’s high points. “Tale as old as time.” At the hook, she returns again and again to the eye-rolled selfown, “I’m the problem, it’s me.” In the song’s video, Swift tosses back drinks with a more exuberantly unhinged version of herself, and a third giantess Swift hovers over the proceedings, bumbling and lightly melancholy.
On “Mastermind,” the album’s sparkly closer, she paints her villain origin story, if you’re inclined to see her as a villain: “No one wanted to play with me as a little kid/so I’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since/ To make them love me and make it seem effortless.”
Into each pop star life, some outside perspective must intrude, and Swift has long spun gold from that raw material. But there are limitations to this approach, and Swift has hit a junction all superstars eventually arrive at — whether to continue to reckon with the past or to forge forward boldly into the future.
On this count, Swift is mainly looking backward on “Midnights,” an album that often plays like an extension of her 2019 LP “Lover,” which was similarly inconsistent, though fuller-sounding. The songs here are filled to the brim with syrupy synths, giving the album an astral, slowmotion effect, as if Swift were trapped in a reverb chamber.
After a handful of albums that felt like pivots ranging from soft to hard — bonkers pop on “1989”; (relatively) edgy experimentation on “Reputation”; earthy, pandemic-isolation character studies on “Folklore” and “Evermore” — “Midnights” feels like a concession to an older, safer idea of Swift, full of songs that are capable and comfortable but often insufficient.
Sometimes, those old modes serve her well. On “Karma,” a largely dim song with an aggressively plastic sound, there’s a twinkle in her voice toward the end when she exhales, “Karma’s a relaxing thought/aren’t you envious that for you it’s not?” On the woozy “Question...?” she’s equally tart: “What’s that that I heard, that you’re still with her?/ That’s nice, I’m sure that’s what’s suitable.”
But some of the lyrics can be lackluster and bluntly imagistic, with little of the detail that made Swift one of the signature pop songwriters of the 21st century: “Don’t put me in the basement/ When I want the
penthouse of your heart,” she sings on the metallic and tense “Bejeweled.”
“Snow on the Beach,” a collaboration with fellow Great American Songwriter Lana Del Rey, begins with light Christmas music energy and never really ascends. Del Rey excels at a kind of rumbling, oozy stasis — it’s like the ecstasy of being caught in a spider’s web — but Swift’s vocals are a mite too cheery to achieve the same effect.
Per ver sely, though, much of the rest of “Midnights,” which was produced by Swift with her regular collaborator Jack Antonoff, constrains her voice. Throughout the album, on songs such as “You’re On Your Own, Kid” and “Maroon,” Swift’s vocals are
stacked together to the point of suffocation. Only on “Sweet Nothing,” a romantic playground lullaby Swift wrote with her longtime romantic partner, Joe Alwyn (the actor who uses the pen name William Bowery), does she approach her signature wide-eyed vulnerability.
A couple of songs point a way out of the fog. The fleet, breezy and lightly damp “Lavender Haze” includes some sweet singing, though it feels overly reminiscent of the thumping digital folk of Maggie Rogers’ “Alaska.”
And the album’s high point is “Vigilante ____,” a slinky, moody electro-cabaret exhale about an antagonist that teems with narrative verve: “Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill
a man/ You did some bad things but I’m the worst of them.” Here, Swift is leaning into the character version of herself — it’s funny, wry, slightly perturbing. It is Swift at her self-referential apex.
Apart from her pandemic pivot to the bucolic, Swift has been devoting time to re-recordings of her old albums, an offshoot of the ownership battles spurred by the sale of her old masters. Such energy might be good for business but bad for art. Perhaps similarly, “Midnights” by and large feels like a fuzzy Xerox of old accomplishments. (At 3 a.m. Friday, Swift released seven bonus tracks, which are comparatively chaotic. Of the new songs, only “Glitch” and “Would’ve,
Could’ve, Should’ve” aren’t subtractive.)
There is, perhaps, a slightly more cynical read to the sonic choices on “Midnights”: Swift hasn’t toured since 2018, after “Reputation.” The songs from “Lover” have never seen a big stage (and the songs from “Folklore” and “Evermore” largely weren’t designed for one). “Midnights” feels like a sonic place holder, with stadiums in mind.
Which all prompts the question of where Swift might go as a midcareer pop star, if she were to pivot once more. Many of the other avenues currently open don’t apply to her — the emotionally icy nu-disco of Dua Lipa; a vocal and cultural flexibility that would allow her to freely collaborate with Latin or K-pop stars. There are songs on “Midnights” — “Midnight Rain,” “Lavender Haze” — that suggest an awareness of the ways Drake and the Weeknd have deployed overcast mood in their vocal and musical production, though she rarely commits. ( There are also some not wholly cogent pitch-shifted vocals.) And she rather steadfastly has resisted a return to country, or popcountry, or country-pop.
But a template for such a perspective-twisting album already exists: It’s called “Reputation,” and Swift released it in 2017. It was, at the time, somewhat derided and wrongly at that. Rarely has Swift sounded so amused, so aggrieved, so willing to reckon with the chasm between her self- perception and the perception of everyone else. It was a rowdy, sticky and unrelentingly clever album in which Swift took on herself and also the world. “Taylor Swift” — bring her back.