Skip to main content

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour

 Taylor Swift is not a dancer, not an actor, and not much of a singer. She is a writer, and she makes this point at the start of her recent touring show, by calling attention to her own words. "We've reached the first bridge of the evening. Do you know this one? Do you think you want to sing with me?"


I'm drunk in the back of the car--
And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar.
Said, I'M FINE... but it wasn't true.
I don't want to keep secrets just to keep you!
And I snuck in through the garden gate--
Every night that summer--just to seal my fate.
And I screamed, for whatever it's worth,
I love you--ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?
He looks up, grinning like a devil....

Here is what TS achieves in this bridge. She finds a new way to use zeugma--the striking deployment and redeployment of one verb within one sentence ("I just have room to lay my things and a few friends," "I keep secrets just to keep you"). She alludes to Eden, and the expulsion from the garden, and the grinning serpent/devil. (And she seems to like the Book of Genesis, as a "garden" makes a reappearance on the "Folklore" album). Finally, she explores the idea of tension in a succinct way; she shines a light on the "gap between speech and thought." (Said I'M FINE but it wasn't true....) These are terrific lines--smuggled into a concert for tweens.

I'm not writing a review, but I wanted to tip a hat to that bridge. Also, I was relieved that "Betty" made the cut. I admire TS's portrait of the inarticulate, fumbling narrator, who reminds me of some teenagers I know personally. This guy sees his girlfriend dancing with another fellow, and he can't even name this fellow, or acknowledge the depth of his own hurt feelings. ("I hate the crowds, you know that--plus, I saw you dance with him.") The narrator acts out in a foolish way, and Swift's syntax matches the muddled thinking: "She said, James, get in. Let's drive....Those days turned into nights....Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long!") 

TS doesn't always scale these heights--the concert is long and uneven--but, still, I'm a fan.

Comments

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...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...