From facing misogynistic cruelty to winning the hearts of young Americans, Taylor Swift’s ubiquity at award shows has been an uphill battle. Despite being a genuine long-time fan, I hold her music subject to the same criticism as all art I consume. I cheered when “folklore” won in 2021, but I cringed when “Midnights” followed in its footsteps last year, beating projects such as SZA’s “SOS.” I hope we can all take a deep breath before I say that I strongly believe her latest album, “The Tortured Poets Department,” does not deserve to win album of the year.
The album’s success is undeniable, breaking multiple records and finding heaps of general applause, with Swifties dissecting sections of favorite songs and TikTok editors aligning clips of TV shows with particularly resonant lyrics.
But I simply was not hearing what others were hearing. Upon my first listen — which, mind you, occurred at the very minute of release — all I could muster in reaction was a vague sensation of boredom. I had followed the promotional chatter leading up to the album’s release, so I understood that this was meant to be a raw, exposed investigation of Swift’s insecurities and failed relationships.
However, the album fails to deliver its suggested honesty in a way that actually feels honest. Swift has long been praised for her ability to capture an emotional journey in a way that feels simultaneously particular to her and accessible for young women, but this album does not strike this balance and instead simply gestures at it. The title track contains some of the worst offenders: “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.” Indeed, these are examples of the intentional mundanity and humor she evokes in her new stream-of-consciousness style, but they instead read like placeholder lyrics that make me laugh in disbelief rather than genuine mirth.
Some lyrics, when read on their own, do carry the specter of a younger Swift who thrives in her narrative-like structures and powerful metaphors — take the running theme of prayer in “The Prophecy,” where she sings, “A greater woman has faith / But even statues crumble if they’re made to wait.” However, no single song managed to afflict me with its anguish or devastation in the way songs from her other projects have.
I also resent the unending synth-wave nonsense that has become producer Jack Antonoff’s trademark with Swift. Even when I could appreciate the lyricism of some songs, I would then think, “Wow, this would be so much better with actual instruments!” I’d find myself missing the piano riffs in “folklore” or electric guitar-led bridges of “Speak Now,” and I’d just listen to those albums instead. I enjoy Aaron Dessner’s production on “The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology,” but Swift sabotages herself with uninteresting melodies and uninspired production throughout the rest of the project. With an oversaturation of remixes and extensions to the album, this feeling is only exacerbated. The project ceases to feel like a true manifestation of her artistic strengths and more of a frustrating reflection of what we already knew: Fans will hungrily lap up anything and everything she releases.
Swift deserves her flowers, but if “The Tortured Poets Department” were to win album of the year, it would be in appreciation of her longevity in the music industry and overall influence rather than an award for this particular achievement. “Midnights” winning exemplified this same phenomenon — Swift has stretched to such insurmountable heights that it’s almost a given that she will win, even when artists like Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan deserve it.
That’s the thing: Swift wins, not necessarily the projects themselves. The real question is whether “The Tortured Poets Department” would’ve even gotten nominated without Swift’s name and the associated rumor mill tagging it. Though the Grammys are close and decisions have already been made, I hope that other worthy nominees aren’t pushed to the side in favor of a project heavily carried by existing fame. In the future, we may even be able to celebrate music that barely makes the margins of the cultural zeitgeist, ushering in an era of its own.
Contact Oshmi Ghosh at [email protected].
