Taylor Swift's "Red." Her masterwork! I can tell my husband wants me in a good mood if he consents to listen to this in the car. My favorite song is "Treacherous," where Taylor worries that Jake Gyllenhaal is "a dangerous slope." But "nothing safe is worth the drive," right? So I will "follow you, follow you home." Sometimes, my husband can't help himself; he has to ask, "Isn't her subject matter a little bit limited? Couldn't she write about politics?" And I get irritated. As if love and sex were not the basis of almost all of Western literary history! And is there something just slightly sexist in the implication that someone who writes constantly about love is less profound than--say--Bruce Springsteen? Do we really want Taylor Swift producing some tedious "Starvation and hatred are bad" anthem, along the lines of Katy Perry's "Chained to the Rhythm"? I don't say any of this. Instead, I say: "Taylor Swift can take your criticism." "I'm sure she can," says my husband, gently. "I'm just not sure that *you* can."
-Here's what really bothers me about "Red." It's not the lack of politics. It's the fact that, in "I Knew You Were Trouble," Tay Tay refers to her "saddest fear." Can a fear really be sad? It can be big, surely, or small. But sad? Lazy writing! Also, in Taylor's grand opus, "All Too Well," she drops the ball around the climax. She has been so wonderfully specific, and then she lands on various cliches to hint at the reasons for the dissolution of her Jake love. "Maybe we got lost in translation? Maybe I asked for too much?" Come again? Are we reading a ten year old's diary? What happened to the wonderfully specific Taylor, the one who talked about Maggie Gyllenhaal and the scarf? The one making observations about the refrigerator light? No one talks about this. But I noticed, Taylor. Lest you think I didn't.
-I secretly suspect that "Angels in America" is not as great as everyone says it is. Even the first part--which, we all know, is the good part. That said, I loved Denise Gough in the current revival. I loved how she would steel herself to say the impossible; it was like watching someone walk off a cliff, again and again and again. "Tell the truth," Gough reminds herself, before walking on stage, and you can sense that; it's a performance without strutting or vanity. And: OK. This script is often great. You have people coping with high-stakes disasters everywhere. The guy who can't admit he is gay and AIDS-stricken. The guy walking out on his dying lover. The pill-popping trapped housewife. "What if I gave birth to a pill?" "Overruled! Motion denied! Get out!" "Mr. Lies!" "An Eskimo! An ANTARCTIC ESKIMO! Hot cocoa will spill from my nipples!" "Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. Now we both have a secret." "Would you look at that, a gay Republican." OK, OK, yes. All of this is wonderful.
-To cope with the job I hate, recently, I have been obsessively studying "Blood Will Tell," in the NYTimes. It's about a guy who was very clearly framed for the murder of his wife, and who has rotted in jail for something like thirty years. What is fascinating to me--and I'm not sure others have remarked on this--is that people in the "comments" section seem so certain about so much. "The brother-in-law did it! I know!" "I actually feel sure it was the husband!" So much certainty, as if these commenters were God. This is the seductive power of narrative.
-But, anyway, back to Taylor Swift. Sometimes, I wonder, when my husband brings up his objection, should I say: "I covertly dislike Bruce Springsteen's singing voice"--? "I really wish that he would give all his songs to Sting, and then Sting would be his mouthpiece"--? I do not say this, because my husband should not feel compelled to act as Bruce's spokesperson. And because I sense there's an entire world of Bruce scholarship I'm ignorant about, and I'd best stay silent. But: you heard it here first. The thought does enter my mind. It enters frequently--and then it sticks around for a while. And such is the drama within my marriage.
-Here's what really bothers me about "Red." It's not the lack of politics. It's the fact that, in "I Knew You Were Trouble," Tay Tay refers to her "saddest fear." Can a fear really be sad? It can be big, surely, or small. But sad? Lazy writing! Also, in Taylor's grand opus, "All Too Well," she drops the ball around the climax. She has been so wonderfully specific, and then she lands on various cliches to hint at the reasons for the dissolution of her Jake love. "Maybe we got lost in translation? Maybe I asked for too much?" Come again? Are we reading a ten year old's diary? What happened to the wonderfully specific Taylor, the one who talked about Maggie Gyllenhaal and the scarf? The one making observations about the refrigerator light? No one talks about this. But I noticed, Taylor. Lest you think I didn't.
-I secretly suspect that "Angels in America" is not as great as everyone says it is. Even the first part--which, we all know, is the good part. That said, I loved Denise Gough in the current revival. I loved how she would steel herself to say the impossible; it was like watching someone walk off a cliff, again and again and again. "Tell the truth," Gough reminds herself, before walking on stage, and you can sense that; it's a performance without strutting or vanity. And: OK. This script is often great. You have people coping with high-stakes disasters everywhere. The guy who can't admit he is gay and AIDS-stricken. The guy walking out on his dying lover. The pill-popping trapped housewife. "What if I gave birth to a pill?" "Overruled! Motion denied! Get out!" "Mr. Lies!" "An Eskimo! An ANTARCTIC ESKIMO! Hot cocoa will spill from my nipples!" "Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. Now we both have a secret." "Would you look at that, a gay Republican." OK, OK, yes. All of this is wonderful.
-To cope with the job I hate, recently, I have been obsessively studying "Blood Will Tell," in the NYTimes. It's about a guy who was very clearly framed for the murder of his wife, and who has rotted in jail for something like thirty years. What is fascinating to me--and I'm not sure others have remarked on this--is that people in the "comments" section seem so certain about so much. "The brother-in-law did it! I know!" "I actually feel sure it was the husband!" So much certainty, as if these commenters were God. This is the seductive power of narrative.
-But, anyway, back to Taylor Swift. Sometimes, I wonder, when my husband brings up his objection, should I say: "I covertly dislike Bruce Springsteen's singing voice"--? "I really wish that he would give all his songs to Sting, and then Sting would be his mouthpiece"--? I do not say this, because my husband should not feel compelled to act as Bruce's spokesperson. And because I sense there's an entire world of Bruce scholarship I'm ignorant about, and I'd best stay silent. But: you heard it here first. The thought does enter my mind. It enters frequently--and then it sticks around for a while. And such is the drama within my marriage.
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