I’m not a full-fledged fan who can recite Taylor Swift’s cats' names, but I am a gentle Swiftie. I remember ripping open the plastic film and shoving Fearless in the boombox when it debuted. And her music's followed me from there. When I lived in Paris for a gap year, Lover was my soundtrack as I explored the cobbled streets and rambled the verdant parks. When I drove the winding roads of Northern California during the pandemic, Folklore comforted me mile after mile, and during my first year in New York, Midnights was the moody backdrop to this new city. All this to say, don’t @ me with what I’m about to say:
If Swift’s 2024 The Tortured Poets Department wins Album of the Year (AOTY) at the Grammy’s this February, I will throw hands. Before you throw yours at me, let me explain.
Swift’s magical power has always been her genre-bending. Categories couldn’t pin her down. Was she country? Pop? Indie folk? With her ninth album, Midnights, I expected another curve ball, like ‘70s rock ‘n roll à la Queen or The Eagles. Instead, we got a return to her synth-pop sound that we first started to hear on 1989. Still, I’m not a hater just to hate. I gave Tortured Poets a chance, listening to it in full ten times, thinking maybe with the next play I’d like it more.