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I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling sickly too // Pop icon continues where she left off with more turgid tracks not fit for any stage.

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One year on from the bloated department of torture, Taylor returns as a showgirl. Hello Tae-Tae – is this showgirl with us? A hollow, uninspiring mess of drivel, The Life of a Showgirl is another waterboarding of dense pop that doesn’t deserve to surface for a breath of clarity.

It will forever be a conundrum that the Showgirl aesthetic was chosen for these list of songs. This variety show is a proper snooze-fest. It’s not frilly, nor is it glamorous. It’s just a densely-filtered diatribe of penis references behind unimaginative instrumentals. It doesn’t scream of a popstar in her element. It screams of a popstar burnt out, filling in the blanks and keeping up appearances.

From the starting blocks of The Fate of Ophelia to the wisdom of Opalite {“Life is a song, it ends when it ends,” good God}, the album lacks any substance of an artist who was once miles above her peers in terms of witty songwriting and introspective lyricism. What’s more startling is the apparent lack of nailed-on melodies. The songs are churned into a glutenous mess of washed-up ideas and worn-out conversations.

The real kicker on this record of course, is Taylor’s relationship with Kelce. With so many dick references spliced up on this (“cocky”, “red wood”, “magic wand” to name a few), it wouldn’t be a complete shock if Travis’s name appeared on the writing credits minutes out of its release. Not to mention my all time favourite: “Forgive me it sounds cocky he dickmatized me and opened my eyes,” and not to mention: “Redwood tree it ain’t hard to see his love was the key that opened my thighs.” Ah, poetry.

What’s odd though is just how hollow her love songs for Travis are. I mean, she’s written far more romantic slews about man-babies she’s known for mere months. So why is Swift dialling down the emotion and dialling up the phallic – which many say is mostly immaterial nonsense when it comes to actual love.

I think in all honesty, pumping out measly albums year on year has taken its toll here. It was mentioned that this album was actually recorded in-between the mammoth 60-odd date Eras tour as she flew to Sweden and back. And honestly… you can kinda see that here. Because cramming in one more knob analogy uses far less brain power than actually coming up with something meaningful for your one to be. For a better word, this whole project feels rushed – even the Textiles high-school artwork feels lazy and strewn together. The Life of a Showgirl is merely a stunt to keep the quarters rolling into her $1.6bn fortune. While no doubt Swifties are enthralled she’s back, the rest of us sit here thinking we’ve got a screw loose – wondering what the hell we must be missing.

If only Taylor put as much effort into her air miles than she did her records, I can’t help but feel this would be a completely different discussion. A geniune break away from the spotlight may need to be manifested, if we’re ever set to see the pop-pinnacle of 1989 again.

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