When Taylor Swift chose to announce her newest album The Life of a Showgirl (hereafter, Showgirl) on her fiancé’s football podcast, a medium not at all catered to her fan demographics, it should have been a clear indication of the record’s shallow thematic direction — deviating from Swift’s usual introspective poetics. Regardless, dedicated fans chose to keep their hopes high despite Swift’s signature lack of pre-release singles, a not-so-surprising engagement announcement, and an intriguing burlesque-themed photoshoot.
With the subsequent release of the star’s twelve-track record on October 3rd, the toll of the death knell disappeared any lingering hopes of a return to the tantalizing pop-perfection that was Swift’s 1989. Labelled by the singer herself as “catching lightning in a bottle,” this recent release fell devastatingly short of such a claim, lacking a clear connection between the record’s title and its lackluster lyrical content.
An egregious example comes in the form of Showgirl’s fifth track, which is a placement canonically reserved for Swift’s most devastating lyrical confessions. Titled “Eldest Daughter,” the track struggles to find any type of sensical narrative, swaying between “I’m never gonna let you down” and “Every eldest daughter / Was the first lamb to the slaughter … and we looked fire.” While the star seems to be addressing her athletic beau, the song collapses into numerous tirades surrounding a childhood reality check, Swift’s inability to act “punk,” and finding one’s twin flame in a “youngest child.” Not only does the song lack direction, the writing itself is also some of Swift’s worst. When compared to her earth-shattering ballad from just one year earlier, “I Hate It Here”: “I hate it here so I will go to lunar valleys in my mind / When they found a better planet, only the gentle survived”the singer’s facile delivery of, “I’m not a bad bitch, and this isn’t savage” sounds like an embarrassing outtake from a Bo Burnham special.
In addition to Swift seemingly losing her lyrical prowess, the eventual out-of-touch fate of every billionaire has also wrapped around her work like a vice. The tenth track, “CANCELLED!” is a particularly visceral example of this, as she proudly announces, “Good thing I like my friends cancelled / I liked ‘em cloaked in Gucci and in scandal.” While a good-faith interpretation of the song may give Swift the benefit of the doubt (her intention being to clear up any misconceptions surrounding her
scrutinized friendship with Blake Lively), the singer still chose to release a one-dimensional and smug diatribe against “the haters.” One can see she is clearly neglecting to take accountability for the very valid criticism she’s received about her carbon footprint, her silence surrounding the genocide in Gaza and lack of commentary about one of the most turbulent presidential reigns in recent American history.
Although many listeners share this viewpoint, countless self-proclaimed “Swifties” are defending the track and the album, claiming that it’s not so different from other rage-filled songs such as the star’s 2017 single “Look What You Made Me Do.” While not one of Swift’s best lyrical showcases, this Reputation track far outweighs our current example’s trite reference to the star’s 2016 cancellation. The biting electropop banger signaled a sharp and cutting shift in Swift’s direction at the time, watching her lean into the performance of pop culture’s villainous beauty queen: “And then the world
moves on, but one thing’s for sure / Maybe I got mine, but you’ll all get yours.” Meanwhile, “CANCELLED!” is a superficial, politically tone-deaf drag that harps on about an eight-year-old wound that is the least of the listener’s worries: “Did you girl-boss too close to the sun? … Come with me, when they see us, they’ll run.”
Swift does manage one major success on Showgirl: a catchy and picturesque four track run that opens the album with a bang. “The Fate of Ophelia” is a complete earworm, despite the lyricism being somewhat overwrought with extensive use of trivial expressions; while track three’s “Opalite” is an infectious pop ray of light, detailing how the singer managed to make her own happiness in spite of “life [beating her] up.”
A standout productional moment finds itself on “Elizabeth Taylor,” a brooding and sensual electropop heavyweight reminiscent of Swift’s 2017 track, “Don’t Blame Me.” The infamous production duo, Max Martin and Shellback, have managed to measure up to their historically proven pop perfection with Swift injecting the song with some of the album’s most interesting narrative moments: “All the right guys / Promised they’d stay / Under bright lights / They withered away.”
Track four, “Father Figure,” is, in my opinion, the record’s magnum opus, as Swift manages to take on the role of both naïve ingenue and calculating overlord. Rather than fighting off allegations of fake niceties, the star touts that her “dick’s bigger” than those of the men who used her (a nod to her disillusionment with her relationship with former manager and American music executive Scott Borchetta), while claiming her spot on the throne of pop music’s kingdom. Still, many listeners may read the menacing track as power-hungry, a possible stab at newer artists looking to the singer for
guidance. Swift’s befuddling relationship with 22-year-old pop sensation Olivia Rodrigo might re-enter
fan discourse; however, the song is strong enough to withstand any character-related criticism directed at Swift. If only she could have made the album’s other tracks clever enough to outweigh the inevitable resentful accusations thrown her way.
The Life of a Showgirl is one of Swift’s most confusing and, let’s face it, bad pieces of work. From stumbling lyricism to practically offensive levels of reality detachment, the star has finally proved to listeners that she’s reached that unfortunate peak of elitist societal withdrawal. “They want that yacht life, under chopper blades / They want those bright lights and Balenci’ shades” she croons on track eight’s “Wi$h Li$t.” Frankly, most listeners simply want a disposable income, but the star may not be aware of such meager goals when she was recently spotted wearing a 26 thousand dollar necklace to dinner in Kansas City.
Regrettably for Swift, money cannot buy her most important asset: relatability. Known and beloved by fans for her unpretentious lack of cool-girl status, the singer has built much of her career on being the popstar-next-door who prefers “t-shirts” over “short skirts.” The Life of a Showgirl blatantly turns this carefully constructed legacy on its head, proudly promoting that Swift herself now knows “the life of a
showgirl” and she’ll “never know another.” Sadly, this closing remark highlights the worrying questions left behind by Swift’s lackluster release: where did the independent, emotionally sprawling singer go, and will we ever get her back?