Taylor Swift – The Tortured Poet’s Department Review

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Social media was quick to write off the recent Taylor Swift release. The cycle begins once more. Like Midnights the uphill struggle for the Swifty Nation and people with jobs caused all-out warfare. But this was different. The placidity of those on the fence cannot stomach the Spotify tie-ins, the quirky Tumblr aesthetic of fountain pens perched on coffee-stained typewriter paper. The Tortured Poet’s Department could be a sappy fiction novel written for young adults and though this is the market Swift caters to, it should never be so obvious. Here it could not be clearer – and the impact her experiences as a billionaire have on her everyday writings appealing to those who care for the brand, not the quality. It was all too much. The bubble has burst and in turn, the laughable titles, the shoddy writing and the bland aesthetic which feels more like a new build house than a lived-in home come clear. 

Allusions to Matt Healy come and go as Swift marks several simple contrasts to Lover. Binary opposites from earlier, optimistic lyrics is tough to sound interested in when the likes of Folklore expressed a maturity and interest in a genre beyond break-up romance. But the heavy lifting for The Tortured Poet’s Department was finished long before it released – her fans picking apart every little detail they could get their hands on and adding intertextuality which requires hours of research and a notification bomb every time Swift posts. All this for tattooed golden retrievers as though this string of words will be perfect for viral TikTok clips of Swifty couples. The Tortured Poets Department is not an isolated incident of poor form on this record – the title track and beyond feel dire in quality and tuneless. The likes of Down Bad and But Daddy I Love Him are tried and failed attempts at getting in touch with the next generation. The Tortured Poet’s Department does a lot to undo the good faith put into Swift over the last five years. 

Nothing has changed. Swift offered some intense interest in Folklore and Evermore but instead of following a route which could be artistically rewarding, she has regressed and made a breakup album. Everyone has their phase at the top. Ed Sheeran. Marvel. Rizzle Kicks. Some spark longer than others while some are sharp enough to pursue other interests outside of topping the charts and irritating those stuck in the back of a taxi with the endless, empty hits playing. This is what is popular, and it is popular because impressionable listeners can project themselves into empty shells. You cannot scrutinize that which is nothing. Intensely dull works featuring those same collaborative efforts which sidelined the interest in a Lana Del Rey appearance. Music for the shopping centre to pipe through broken speakers for the next six months. A tremendously dated effort like loml or the faux venom of The Smalled Man Who Ever Lived becomes tiresome. I Can Do It With a Broken Heart is an infuriating piece, trivialising the harmful thoughts and depressive episodes as something to ditch for the sake of entertaining yourself with birthday-like gifts. Swift is a commercialised artist and has now sold off her emotive turns to the highest bidder.

Swift has a way of addressing controversy to keep it burning. Alluding to Patti Smith comparisons on her title track lends itself to another round of chatter online. The Tortured Poet’s Department may lack real quality in its writing and its dense and predictable production. Florence and the Machine cannot crack through the thick wall of tired lyrics and doomed moments on Florida!!!. Context or not, knowing these songs are written under the context of attaching yourself to someone once more sinks the potential for Swift to ensure independence as a strong factor in the minds of her impressionable fans. Guilty as Sin? and I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) are as torturous to listen to without knowing they relate to The 1975’s frontman. Ultimately the projection and rejection fans of Swift will feel with this record is what will guide them through another shaky release which falls into the “just another break-up album” pile. Nothing special from an artist who just four years ago was reinventing her sound with acoustic bliss. All roads lead to the top of the charts and conformity to a swelling fan base.