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My drive to the cinema, however, was filled with mixed feelings, as less than 12 hours before, I’d had an extremely lukewarm reaction to Swift’s 12th record, The Life of a Showgirl. I wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on a significant vibe shift and lack of…pizzazz that was promised from the Max Martin-produced record, marketed as a behind-the-curtain reflection on the pomp, grandiosity, chaos and confusion that comes with being a showgirl.
Instead, the record reads more like an attempt at appearing nonchalant towards the negative noise, while simultaneously only focusing on it, sandwiched between a few peppy love songs. Unlike the defined sonic-directions of Swift’s previous 11 records, there’s little through-line between the palette, and at times, the writing leaves little to the imagination. To me, there’s a distinct lack of yearning on this record — a defining trait in Swift’s lyricism.
