---

Swift shifts out albums at an alarming rate. It appears quantity overloads quality for the pop icon..

---

There’s no denying that Swift is an equivocal tour-de-force. By and large, she is the one of the biggest pop stars to ever exist, bar none. I may not be a Swiftie, but I can understand the mass pandemonium she as an artist has caused. Her country-turned pop humdrums have been causing teenagers sobbing outside her arena shows for years. Be it Love Story, 1989’s Blank Space or her most recent folk shift in august, Taylor can be a songwriting genius.

But her new work is anything but. Leaving the horrendous name aside – which sounds exactly like what one of her fans to come with – the album is littered with bloated, uninspired songs that can easily be rinsed off in one sitting without even soaking the damn thing in. Not the mention the song names too. There’s no denying that she knows her target audience. Every name sounds almost like it’s been scrawled down in a torn diary, blitzed with boys’ names and poetic limericks that seem deep when they’re not even remotely. My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys. But Daddy I Love Him. I Can Do It With a Broken Heart.

---

It’s a well-worn formula that you’d think pop and fans alike would’ve gotten sick of. But if the Queen of Pop herself is still regurgitating the same ol’ shite, why will anyone else do anything different?

---

Released today, Tortured Poets Department comes after Midnights which came out in 2022. But not before Taylor’s versions of every other album she’s ever written was released. Then, if the new album wasn’t enough, Swift double-downs and releases The Anthology; a 31-track steam pile. No doubt double the retail price, too. If she stops to actually take in her work and release only the half-decent material, she may actually have an album worth listening all the way through to. Perhaps something to think about, T-Swizzle.

Every song has a pulsating annoyance to it, devoid of anything at all. Posty’s contributions on opener Fortnight are bland and sparse – bit like where his own music is going actually. Fitting. Her favourite mood of a human, Aaron Dressner also makes a familiar appearance on here, as he did with the evermore/folklore double-header. It sounds like you need to dip out the studio soon Aaron, the folk pixie magic has already faded. So High School, meanwhile, is a song devoid of any suggested sentiment. The only anguish I feel here is to launch my laptop out the window. It’s a stretch for Swift to define herself as a poet – let alone a tortured one – with lyrics, “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto.”

Of course, Florence Welsh tries to save any salvation on eighth attempt Florida!!! (three exclamation marks are necessary, apparently) but all thoughts of Welsh saving this mess are immediately quashed when you hear lyrics like, “And in my mind, they sink into the swamp / Is that a bad thing to say in a song? With these lines, it’s almost as if they’re smirking at each other, seemingly at the expense of the listener. But the jokes on them, I’ve already stopped listening.

---