Here’s the AP’s review of Taylor Swift’s ‘Department of Tortured Poets’

Who knew what the latest era of Taylor Swift would bring? Or even what it would look like? Would this draw on the bad mood of “Midnights” or the people of “Evermore”? The country or 80s pop of his latest re-recordings? Or its two predecessors on black and white covers: the revenge pop of “Reputation” and the literary Americana of “folklore”?

“The Department of Tortured Poets,” here Friday, is an amalgamation of all of the above, like the artist who – at the height of his powers – has spent recent years re-recording his life’s work and to browse his material, filtered through synth-pop anthems, breakup ballads, provocative and mature considerations.

In moments, her 11th album feels like bloodletting: a cathartic purge after major heartbreak delivered through an ascending vocal run, an elegiac verse, or moving, synthesized productions that underscore Swift’s storytelling powers.

And there are surprises. The lead single and first track “Fortnight” is the grown-up “1989” – and features Post Malone. It might seem like a fun pairing, but it takes time: Since at least 2018, Swift’s fans have known about her love of Malone’s “Better Now.”

“But Daddy I Love Him” is the return of country Taylor, in some ways – fairytale songwriting, a full chorus, a spunky acoustic guitar riff, and a cheeky lyrical reversal: “But Daddy I Love Him” love him / I have his baby / No, I don’t / But you should see your faces (Babies also appear on “Florida!!!” and the bonus track “The Manuscript”.)

The fictional “Fresh Out The Slammer” begins with a very pretty psychedelic guitar sound that disappears under wind-blown production; the adjacent new wave “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” brings back “Barbie”: “I felt more when we were playing pretend than with all the Kens / ‘Cause he took me out of my box.”

Even before Florence Welch launched into her verse in “Florida!!! ”, the chorus’ explosive repetition of the song’s title hits hard with nostalgic 2010s indie rock, perhaps a Swiftian alternate universe take on Sufjan Stevens’ “Illinois.”

As another title says, “So Long, London,” indeed.

It would be a disservice to read Swift’s songs as purely a diary, but this track – the fifth on this album, which her fans generally consider to be the most devastating niche of each album – evokes striking parallels with her relationship with a certain English actor whom she separated. with in 2023. Place it next to a sleepy love ode like “The Alchemy”, with its references to “landing” and cutting someone “from the team” and well…art imitates life.

Revenge is always a pervasive theme. But where the retaliatory anthems of “Midnights” were vindictive, on “The Tortured Poets Department” new complexities emerge: “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” ” combines the musical ambition of “Evermore” and “folklore” – and adds a thumping bass on the bridge – with sensibilities ripped from the headstrong, unsheathed “Reputation”. But here, Swift mostly trades her victimhood for self-confidence, warts and all.

“Who’s afraid of little old me?” she sings. “You should be,” she replies.

And yet, “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived” may be her most biting song yet: “You were no match for a man in any way,” she sings over a piano propulsive. “I’ll forget you, but I’ll never forgive,” she describes her target, likely the same “tattooed golden retriever,” a Jejune description, mentioned in the title track.

Missteps are few and far between, found in other cutesy lyrics and songs like “Down Bad” and “Guilty as Sin?” which falter when placed alongside the album’s more meditative pop moments.

Elsewhere, Swift holds up a mirror to her melodrama and melancholy: she cries at the gym, don’t call him “sad”, is she allowed to cry? She is dead inside, she thinks you might want her dead; she thinks she might die. She listens to the voices that tell her, “Lights, camera, bitch, smile / Even when you want to die,” as she sings on “I Can Do It with a Broken Heart,” a song about her own performances – on stage and as a public figure.

“I’m unhappy and no one knows it!” » she laughs at the end of the song before sighing: “Try to come for my work.”

“Clara Bow” enters the pantheon of great final tracks from a Swift album. The title refers to the 1920s silent film star who burned fast and hot – an early “It girl” and Hollywood sex symbol prone to vitriolic gossip, victim of easy, everyday misogyny amplified by celebrity . Once Bow’s harsh Brooklyn accent was heard in talkies, rumor has it, his career was over.

During his life, Bow later attempted suicide and was sent to an asylum – the same facility that appears in “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” » “Clara Bow” works as an allegory and cautionary tale for Swift, in the same way that Stevie Nicks’ “Mabel Normand” — another tragic silent film star — worked for the Fleetwood Mac star.

Nicks also appears in “Clara Bow”: “You look like Stevie Nicks in 1975 / Hair and lips / The crowd goes wild.” »

Later, Swift turns the camera inward and the song ends with her singing, “You look like Taylor Swift in this light / We love her / You got an edge / She never did.” The album ends there, with what could be read as self-deprecation but instead stings as frustrating self-awareness.

Swift sings the story of a tortured poet, but she is one too. And isn’t it great that she gives herself creative license?