Skip to main content

Taylor Swift: "Anti-Hero"

 In the galaxy of Taylor Swift characters, one of the great arch-villains is John Mayer:


Dear John....
Don't you think I was too young to be messed with?
The girl in the dress cried the whole way home....
I should've known....

It's funny, then, that the most recent canonical Taylor song seems to borrow heavily from Mayer. It's a main feature of Mayer's work to be self-deprecating; Mayer's words are often charming and witty. "Walking like.a one-man army....Fighting with the shadows in your head...." "Take all of your so-called problems...Better put 'em in quotations...."

Mayer's major achievement is a dissection of an awkward date: "My stupid mouth got me in trouble...I said too much again....Mama said, THINK BEFORE SPEAKING...No filter in my head....What's a boy to do?"

I hear Mayer when I hear Taylor Swift's breezy statement about self-loathing:

I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser.
Midnights become my afternoons.
When my depression works the graveyard shift--
All of the people I've ghosted....stand there in the room...

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism...
Like some kind of congressman?
(Tale as old as time....)

Some of Taylor's problems may no longer count as "relatable": securing the private jet, finding extra bodyguards for the lobby of the third (or fourth) home on Cornelia Street. But we all feel ambivalent about ourselves. This ambivalence is gold; it's worth "mining."

Also, I *do* think that Swift is alluding to Howard Ashman when she crazily mentions the "tale as old as time." Famously, Swift once dressed as the Little Mermaid for a costume party at her Westerly mansion.

All right. Maybe I'll get to "Lavender Haze" at some point. We'll have to see.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more