I think I’m a Swiftie now

O P I N I O N

It was a sweltering summer evening, and my wife and I were cooling off with a couple of cold drinks while chatting with our friends in the air conditioning at Chelby’s Pizza.

I played Springsteen’s “Jungleland” on the jukebox, a fitting song for summer, then I experienced a rare moment of inner peace with my cold beer, my lovely bride by my side, and The Boss on the jukebox.

Then my wife poked me in the ribs, jarring me from my reverie. “Remember, we agreed to have a Taylor Swift listening party with our daughter tonight,” she said.

The needle scratched across the record. I felt like I was Magic Rat[1] figuratively gunned down by his own dream.

“We did what?” I asked.

“Taylor Swift’s album came out last night, and we told our daughter we would listen to it with her tonight,” Liz said.

This seemed consistent with the trajectory of my life lately: As soon as solace gets close enough to sniff, something rips it from my grasp. “I can’t wait,” I said.

First, let’s get this straight. I love my daughter to death—maybe to a fault. She’s 20 years old and home from college for the summer, and I’m thrilled that she’s around.

I was not thrilled, however, about leaving the bar and Bruce Springsteen to listen to Taylor Swift’s reissue of her 2010 album “Speak Now” on a Friday night.

But—as many parents of young adults already know—you do it anyway. The whole myth that once your kids finish high school you’ll be free to live your life like you did before you had children is a load of shit.

However, with the fridge in my Man Cave[2] full of cold Bud Lights, I figured that I could make it through an album by Taylor Swift, who has accumulated a cult following of teenage and 20-something young women who would be willing to jump into a volcano at her command. Besides, I was curious about what it is that makes the woman so appealing to her fans.

An hour later, Liz, our daughter and I sat down in the basement to listen Taylor Swift’s reissue of her old album[3].

And after listening to the album, I can say—as a 48-year-old man—I think I’m a Swiftie[4] now.

Taylor Swift writes some really catchy songs that are not altogether lyrically insipid. She’s a natural storyteller with a pleasant voice and some really infectious melodies.

The standout song, for me, was “Dear John,” which Taylor wrote about the notorious douche-canoe John Mayer, who has been playing for years with Dead and Company[5]. It’s a clever and scathing take-down about a 19-year-old girl who was manipulated by a 33-year-old creeper.

After finishing “Speak Now,” my daughter then played some songs from Taylor’s sister albums, “Folklore” and “Evermore,” which were released during the pandemic. To use the vernacular of the kids these days, these songs were absolute “fire,”

“The Love Triangle” songs— “Betty,” “Cardigan” and August”—may actually appear on one of my future playlists. Each of the three songs told by a first-person narrator—Betty, James and an unnamed third woman—and collectively they weave a loose narrative.

And I might actually play “Champagne Problems” the next time I’m at Chelby’s Pizza and the jukebox is free. Don’t try to stop me. I’m a Swiftie now, and I won’t stand down.

_________

[1] He’s a character in the song “Jungleland.”

[2] Yes. I am that cliché. I have a Man Cave in the basement of my house with a mini-fridge stuffed with beers. There is also a ton of sports memorabilia and a kick-ass reprint of the Leroy Neiman’s painting from the final frame of “Rocky III.”

[3] Much like Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen, Taylor Swift signed a bad contract with some unscrupulous record executives, and she’s been reissuing her earlier work to reclaim her creative rights to those songs.

[4] This is the term used to describe Taylor Swift’s vast fan-base.

[5] For the record, the Grateful Dead ended when Jerry died, and the other cash grabs by the former band members have never really interested me.