Album Review: Taylor Swift is Caught in a Haze on ‘Midnights’
On her first true pop album since 2019’s Lover, Taylor Swift doesn’t sparkle. She’s caught in a late-night fog of introspection and self-loathing. Still glowing? We’ll see.
Written by Grace Robertson
Photos courtesy of Beth Garrabrant
Despite the source of Midnights’ inspiration, Taylor Swift hasn’t spent the past couple of years lying awake, lamenting bygones. She’s been on track to re-release all six of her albums produced under Big Machine, dropped indie hits folklore and evermore in the same year, and played supporting roles in a number of films (even if we’re all collectively trying to forget the time she donned a CGI fursuit for Cats). She’s spent the past two years revisiting her previous work with a fine-tooth comb and stacking her various IMDB credits, so it’s understandable that she spends Midnights reflecting on her legacy rather than breaking new ground.
Midnights doesn’t pierce through the pop princess fog of reputation and Lover: it leans into it. Drowning Swift’s voice in a symphony of moody synths, layers of bedroom pop syncopations, the album’s characteristically Swift choruses hit the ground running, but never quite soar. It’s a sonically mature version of the sparkling pop of 1989 — Swift after discovering she can curse almost convincingly. But occasionally, the lyrics make it difficult to take her seriously; a 32-year-old singing “Did all the extra credit then get graded on a curve / I think it’s time to teach some lessons” on the song “Bejeweled” feels far from believable.
But Swift isn’t going for age-appropriate accuracy. She’s more keen to explore how her career, which has become a phenomenon in and of itself, warps her own identity despite her grabs for self-ownership. Taylor Swift, persona and person, still doesn’t know who she is. On the closer “Mastermind,” Swift explores the groundwork she laid for her relationship, which eerily sounds like a reflection of her own career trajectory: “No one wanted to play with me as a little kid / So I’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since / To make them love me and make it seem effortless.” It’s a striking admission backed by a collection of bubbly synths that feel out of place as she lightheartedly justifies what she calls her “cryptic and Machevillian” tendencies.
Swift at her most vulnerable (which often translates to self-loathing) is a recurring theme throughout the album – Swift teases her way around her anxieties and insecurities on “Anti Hero,” the intended lead single (it was the first song she dropped a music video for). She scrapes the top of her range for the opening verse, but really hits her stride with a lower murmur as she sings, “Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism / Like some kind of congressman?” before launching into a disarmingly cheery chorus of “It’s me, hi! I’m the problem!” Cue the memes.
As she peels back the layers of her own insecurities, vindictive revenge fantasies and might-have-beens, Swift’s processed vocals and producer Jack Antonoff’s booming bass drums keep the listener at a distance. Maybe the intimacy of folklore was only possible because Swift was writing fantasies (albeit beautifully).
Even on “Maroon,” the sharpest track lyrically, Swift’s voice is swathed in layers of synths and Antonoff’s signature smudgy synth-pop. The song is a feat of syllable-bending. Swift sings, in response to the mystery of a friendship-turned-romance, “Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that’s how / I see you every day now.” It’s a callback to Lover’s bouncy melodies, with an R&B adjacent twist.
Swift’s genre bending is hardly unexpected by now — but Midnights feels like a readjustment in the Swift discography rather than a full-blown turn to a new direction. It’s a transitional album, accounting for the bubbly pop of Lover on “Karma” and “Labyrinth” and the fluttering introspection of folklore. “You’re on Your Own, Kid” and 3 am bonus track “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve,” whose spine-chilling lyrics (“The tomb won’t close / Stained glass windows in my mind / I regret you all the time) coupled with Swift’s cutting vocals makes for one of the standouts of the album. It’s a reminder that she can still effectively eviscerate John Mayer. Shame it wasn’t one of the album’s original 13 tracks — the other 3am additions don’t carry the same weight (especially “Paris” and “Glitch,” the latter in which she unironically uses the word ‘situationship’).
With “Vigilante Shit,” Swift's intention for this album to launch yet another record-breaking stadium tour is clear. You can almost hear audience screams filling the gaps in the rattling bass line as she figuratively beats a man who wronged her into submission — making friends with his ex-wife and tearing down his business, one FBI call at a time. It teeters on the edge of cheesiness, but the spare production and venom in Swift’s voice both keep the song on solid ground.
“Bejeweled”’s strained theatricality serves to highlight how far it falls behind some of Swift’s lyrically superior tracks on the album. It’s an awkwardly paced attempt at the delightful narcissism of reputation, but lacks the charm of its predecessor. “Best believe I’m still bejeweled / When I walk in the room / I can still make the whole place shimmer” doesn’t have the same bite as reputation’s “I Did Something Bad” and “Look What You Made Me Do.”
The real shimmer comes on “Snow on the Beach,” a twinkly celebration of the thrill of mutual love. Lana Del Rey’s back-up harmonies coupled with synths and soaring violins simultaneously grounds the track and creates a warmth that captures the new-love glow Swift describes.
The highlight of the album comes around the halfway mark with “Midnight Rain,” an interestingly arhythmic track that successfully posits Swift’s newfound love of vocal manipulation against a barebones backdrop of synthy electronica. The result is a tension-filled, catchy chorus that ends with classic Swift punchiness: “He was sunshine, I was midnight rain / He wanted comfortable / I wanted that pain.” It’s a subtle mid-album climax, but it’s also a reminder of the uncomfortable sacrifices Swift makes to continually reinvent herself.
Even as Swift drifts in a synth-filled haze from vindictive to self-loathing, it’s clear that peace is what looking for . “On the way home / I wrote a poem / You say what a mind / This happens all the time,” she murmurs on the lullaby “Sweet Nothing.” Swift may not be revolutionizing pop on Midnights, but she revels in all of her faults and loves — which may be a victory all the same.