TAYLOR SWIFT EXPANDS HER HORIZONS, ADDING MAGIC & MYSTERY TO FOLKLORE

Even now, after all this time, Taylor Swift is an enigma. And how could she not be? Unfathomably famous in a way so few have or will ever be, it almost seems as if the more that is known about her, the less. Like others that have reached a place of such rarified altitude, there may come a day when every shred of fact, fiction, myth and legend bleed into one completely. But the ceaseless stream of scrutiny that haunts such storied fables of unprecedented success – generated by earnest fan idolatry, the ugly tabloid noise that swims in its wake and everything in-between – hasn’t lessened a vast creative ambition that could not have possibly been predicted at the beginning of this story. With Folklore, her eighth studio album arriving just eleven months after her last and fourteen years after her first, she continues her reign as a true pop craftsman. Now thirty years old, she’s never been further from the crowded hallways and hurtful hierarchies of the school set teenage love songs she once gave voice to so effortlessly, and to hear her at this moment in time is like being introduced to a different person, certainly a different artist. Her voice, a shade deeper than it used to be, conveys an ease that was missing before, as if she’s comfortable in her skin in a way that perhaps no one is when they are too young, too dumb to know when to let go of the worlds expectations. Indeed, this is Swift on another plane, examining the everyday highs and lows of an altogether different stage of life with humility and patience, all while keeping the tradition of breaking with tradition in favor of something new.    

Folklore is a different kind of expression from the outset, one that lets the spectacular bombast and carnival light like melodrama of past albums fade into the dark and the fog. Its lyrically introspective and sonically spartan, acutely vivid and emotional.  “I’m doing good, I’m on some new shit,” she announces mere seconds in, and I almost laughed, completely startled by the turn of phrase and unsure what such a declaration could mean. “Been saying ‘yes’ instead of ‘no,’” she continued, and just like that, I understood. Her delivery is casual, lighter than you’d think even when dancing in the shadows that upheaval casts. Like she’s speaking to a friend. Before long, the dramatic change in outlook that those words suggest, materializes into something bigger – a symbol of a colossal shift in sound. As a songwriter, Swift has always had more in common with the Goffin & King pros of yesteryear than she has with any one genre or style, forever loyal only to what makes a song jump off the page. That natural ear has always been evident, though exactly where it takes her continues to surprise and occasionally confound. On last summer’s Lover, the gorgeously understated “It’s Nice To Have A Friend,” stood out for its stillness, and in hindsight, it is the bridge that led her here.

“You know the greatest films of all time were never made,” she sings on “The 1,” deftly zeroing in on how potential isn’t enough to save an ending. “You know the greatest loves of all time are over now,” she concludes a verse or two later, after the moving, changing image of what a parallel life might look is fully in focus. Although it’s a question that comes from a place of curiosity, not pain. Previously, Swift’s records have overwhelming felt like they sought to portray experiences as they happened in the moment, with high stakes and bleeding hearts. But Folklore largely seeks to make sense of the emotions that follow, tracing the feelings that settle after the dam finally breaks. So it’s only fitting that a return to familiar subject matter is marked by the very different way she chooses to explore it. Collectively, “Cardigan,” “August” and “Betty” tell the tale of a teenage couple and the indiscretion that breaks them up, cleverly offering a window into each characters point of view. Immediately, the charming brightness of “Betty” recalls the buoyancy of her early work, but this time, contrasting perspectives play with the interpretation and timeframe of events, making for a seemingly sunny conclusion that masks darker reverberations. Most interestingly, its imagery and setting are shared with a crucial moment in the very real life love triangle between Eric Clapton, George Harrison and Pattie Boyd, who Swift previously interviewed for the pages of Vogue. Famously, it was away from the bustling conversation and noise of a party, where all three found themselves out in the garden, alone with each other, when the walls closed in and the truth came to light.      

As is the case with most of Swift’s albums, Folklore’s magic outweighs it’s missteps, though it’s undoubtedly unlike anything she’s made up to this point. “My Tears Ricochet,” “Invisible String,” “Epiphany,” “Hoax” and “Peace” are each subtle, quiet and devastating in their own way – easily the most wrenching songs she’s ever recorded. But for all of their individual idiosyncrasies, they are bound by some mysterious element that is much harder to articulate. I suppose that’s because there’s something about them that taps into something beautiful as easily as blood is drawn from a vein, even when hinting at something ugly and cruel that’s never far off.  

By Caitlin Phillips
07.28.2020

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