In a tranquil corner next to the windows of my fifth grade classroom, there were comfortable beanbags, where my friends and I dawdled. There, away from the lazy eyes of our teacher, we argued about trivialities, played flash games, and listened to music. Fancy, Call Me Maybe, Shake It Off — the vibrant pop of the mid 2010s.
Even then, many of us scoffed at Taylor Swift’s music, with the impudent confidence that 5th graders tend to have. We called her lyrics cringey, her voice annoying, her songs meaningless. But even as we ridiculed her music, we’d sing along to her hits: we were a group of squeaky sopranos belting the high notes of 22 or I Knew You Were Trouble or Style in the corners and hallways of our school.
But then we grew up, our piercing soprano voices changing to comforting tenors, our music preferences changing from pop to rock or rap or jazz or classical.
Folklore, made over the quarantine and released on July 24th, is Taylor Swift’s latest album. Folklore veers away from the pop that Taylor is famous for from albums such as Red, 1989, and Lover. She embraces some new genres — Folklore has been described as indie folk, alternative rock, and chamber pop.
Even as she changes genres, however, much remains the same. The evocative storytelling, clever lyricism, and elegant vocals are so characteristically Taylor, along with the album’s romantic themes. Yet, despite these similarities, the Taylor on Folklore feels markedly different from anything we have seen from her in the past.
Here, she feels more reserved, more thoughtful, more mature.
On Should’ve Said No, the final single from her debut self-titled album in 2006, she harshly criticizes a lover who cheated on her, saying that “even now just looking at you feels wrong,” The hatred towards her disloyal lover is palpable and complex, as if she is screaming not only with disgust for his infidelity, but for the regret of the relationship that could have been. A decade later, on Getaway Car in Reputation (2017), she talks about infidelity from the perspective of the cheater, comparing her thrilling deceit to leaving a crime scene in a getaway car. And although she halfheartedly expresses regret for her infidelity, the experience is characterized mostly by the thrill.
She has never been as eloquent about infidelity as she is on illicit affairs in Folklore. On the track, she describes cheating as a “dwindling mercurial high”, comparing it to a drug. She approaches the destructive nature of it too; “For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times.” If her previous songs about infidelity were characterized by their focus on one feeling, be it hatred or thrill or misery, this one is best characterized by its maturity to capture them all, by its willingness to look through the intricacies of cheating and conclude that it is both thrilling yet destructive, and that it ultimately leaves everybody hurt.
The entire album feels similarly eloquent. It’s as if Taylor, free of the nonstop tours and pressures from the paparazzi, has finally had time to really ruminate on what she writes.
She writes about fictional love triangles, reminisces about old lovers, and even expresses her gratitude for essential workers, all with wonderful success. It is evident that despite this album’s surprise release, its making was attended to scrupulously during the sedentary life of the past few months. And many tracks on this album truly shine as a result: the last great american dynasty, mirrorball, my tears ricochet, epiphany, betty, and peace can all proudly stand alongside the best music Taylor has ever made.
However, there are a few criticisms one could make. One could criticize the lethargic pace of the album’s first single, cardigan, but it could also be argued that the song’s reminiscing nature benefits from a relaxed tempo. Similarly, the washed-out vocals on august or this is me trying sound jarring, but perhaps that is the point — the melancholy lyrics are amplified by this unconventional production choice. Finally, the tracklist could have been made more concise, perhaps with the removal of seven or hoax, however painful it would have been for Taylor and her fans.
During the pandemic, I have found myself longing for the familiar. I have reread the books of my childhood, played soccer in the worn-down fields of my elementary school, and played board games I hadn’t looked at in years. But some of the greatest comfort I have found has been in music, in the melodies that I unconsciously hum during early mornings and late nights.
Taylor’s legacy will be consequential, if the metric for legacy is in the melodies we remember. All of those who grew up in the 2010s will remember her music inseparably intertwined with memories of our childhood. I speculate that when we fondly listen to the music of the past, we will listen to Taylor, not the rap that dominated the tail-end of the decade.
But most excitingly, it seems that Taylor’s music is getting better as she enters her 30s. If this trajectory continues, perhaps some of her long-time haters will stop branding her music as shallow pop meant for privileged girls. Certainly, I will be waiting patiently for whatever she comes up with next, regardless of its genre or style.
And while I’m waiting, I will sing all of her songs in tranquil bedroom corners, ruminating about the past and looking forward to the uncertainty of the seemingly perilous future.