Re-invention has long been a staple of a Swiftian record release, enshrining a new era in a distinctive style and aesthetic to match its thematic focus. “Sorry, Taylor can’t come to the phone now. Why? ‘Cause she’s dead”, she famously leered in 2017’s ‘Look What You Made Me Do’. The audacious warning was camp but effective. Swift had found a way to successfully weaponise her tainted reputation by subverting every negative trope into part of a newer, stronger brand. On Midnights, Swift revisits vengeance with some gratification but less of the simmering anger and sense of proving herself.
Each song on the record is inspired by one of “13 sleepless nights”, spanning several years. But Swift misses the opportunity to unveil hidden dimensions of her life or herself, instead re-treading familiar ground with a lighter touch. While her ideas are competently articulated, they say little that she hasn’t said before. Midnights is a sonically cohesive body of work if nothing else. There are consistent uses of simple drum battens, airy synth patches and gradual instrumental progressions from start to finish. Yet, these choices often fall into the realm of bland, with the songwriting quality stooping to match its toothless beats.
Formerly her strongest asset across any album, Swift’s lyrics are less concise than they need to be. Known for the skill of worldbuilding with a focus on the little things, Midnights falls flat when it gets too vague. Take the chronically underwritten ‘Midnight Rain’, which sounds like it was lifted straight from a 2014 Tumblr fanfiction about her love life. We’re missing the sharp details that would have brought the track to life, as she sings of a failed relationship: “he was sunshine, I was midnight rain.” The over-edited vocals that allegedly made Swift sound like James Charles don’t make it any more memorable; at least not for the right reasons.
‘Anti-Hero’ offers more surprising moments. The hook declares ‘It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me’, the most blatant admission of guilt for her own role in messy public entanglements.. However, repetitive snares fail to elevate the track to anything more substantial, and the message is further undercut by the bizarre lyric “sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby”. Although apparently criticizing the infantilization of female entertainers, a valid point worth making, its delivery frames her as the victim of this phenomenon. This undermines the song’s overall intention to take accountability for a history of self-victimisation. Elsewhere, on ‘Karma’, Swift borrows from Billie Eilish’s dark electro-pop style. It’s a good imitation by a dedicated study but feels just like that: an imitation. She is better off when chasing the sweet spot between excavating deeper feelings and facing them with maturity. Known to place her most emotional songs at number 5, ‘You’re On Your Own Kid’, is a bittersweet coming of age anthem. It’s where the speaker feels most separate from the self-mythologizing Taylor Swift narrative, instead, tapping into a wistful and genuine voice.
‘Labyrinth’ is the album’s standout, providing some of the most evocative and affecting lyrics. “I thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it back around?” she asks. It’s a far more thoughtful ode to her partner than the cliche rom-com allusions of “having someone kiss you in a crowded room” on ‘Question…?’. Nor does Swift have an answer. Organs and bells create a sense of a tentative atmosphere. “You know I hate how everyone expects me to bounce back / just like that” she sings. It’s a boldly forthright admission that strips away the messy layers of play-acting, and much better for it.
Image “Taylor Swift 2010” by avrilllllla is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.