Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story.’ Where do I begin?

I have a true confession to make. I am ashamed to admit that I have not heard a single song by Taylor Swift. At least, not till I decided to write this column. I blush to disclose that the lady’s name passes by me as the idle wind. Her records have broken all manner of records, the number of ‘hits’ she generates on Spotify, Amazon Music and other similar portals have hit the roof and gone to stratospheric heights. The Beatles and Ed Sheeran can step aside, else Taylor Swift’s boots will walk all over you. Money, money, money / Must be funny / In the rich man’s world, sang Swedish moneybags ABBA, all those years ago, but even they must be gagging on their Köttbullar (Swedish meatballs), when they get to cast their eyes on Taylor Swift’s bank balance. I say this as a person who voraciously consumes all genres of music from both western and Indian sources. Pop, Rock, R&B, Jazz, Musicals, Classical from the western hemisphere, and from my motherland, Carnatic and Hindustani classical to Hindi and Tamil film songs, particularly those released during the 60s and 70s. That is a pretty full plate and difficult to do adequate justice to, but one does one’s best within the 24-hour time cycle.

Essentially, it all boils down to a generational thing. Taylor Swift represents a generation and a brand of music that I have had neither the time nor the inclination to sit and listen to. Or perhaps, dance to. I also realise that it is not fair to make a virtue out of a lack, and felt, that I ought to listen to the young lady at some length before I pass judgement, one way or the other, on the quality of her music. I should also quickly add that Taylor Swift, for the purposes of this essay, is a symbolic representation of other contemporary musicians like her, most of whom I have not had the pleasure (dubious or otherwise) of listening to, and cannot readily affix names to.

After all, when I was going through my adolescent years, playing The Beatles’ I wanna hold your hand and She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah, 45 rpms on our Grundig radiogram, my parents were, to say the least, not best pleased. My mother went so far as to say that these were sounds emanating directly from hell and that her sons were doomed and headed for purgatory. In order to steer me back to the straight and narrow, she would make me sit down and take Carnatic music lessons – first from her, and then from a qualified music teacher. Though to be fair to her, she looked more charitably upon Dancing Shoes and Bachelor Boy by Cliff Richard. He was more melodic and pumped less adrenaline and testosterone.

And so it came to pass that it was time to get an earful of Taylor Swift. I simply had to know what magic she imparts that makes her the most sought-after, or perhaps bought-after musician today. Fortunately, one does not have to spend money these days to access her music. It is all there on YouTube or Spotify, not entirely free, but reasonable annual subscriptions do not make that much of a dent in one’s meagre cash reserves, giving one the illusion of getting it all on the never-never. Incidentally, if you are new to Spotify, please dole out a little extra cash and take the ‘no ads’ option. Otherwise, your listening pleasure will be ruined by periodic punctuations of silly ad messages right between your favourite tracks. Take it from me, it is no fun being rudely interrupted by a high-pitched male or female voice urging you to buy this or that brand of insurance, right between the 1^st and 2^nd movements of Bach’s 3^rd Brandenburg Concerto. Sacré bleu!

What is it about Taylor Swift that every time I attempt to start writing something about her, I get side-tracked onto something else? Part of the reason can be ascribed to my lack of adequate knowledge of her evidently impressive body of work, the other part being a deep-seated reluctance to make the effort to get to know exactly what makes her tick. Somewhere in the dark and biased recesses of my mind, I am sub-consciously worrying that I might actually get to like her passionate outpourings, which could very well be the thin end of the wedge. That may not be an entirely undesirable thing, particularly if I run into a group of adolescent teenagers who are sold on Ms. Swift. I could keep the conversation going for a while, if not actually impress the hell out of them (‘Uncle, you are so cool’). That being the case, a crash course on the music of Taylor Swift was in order. ‘Greatest Hits of Taylor Swift,’ I googled. As ever, Google obliged with 30 of her smash hits for me to savour.

At which point I discovered that Taylor Swift was not just about songs and music. It was about short films, lavishly and expensively made, over which her songs were played and she acted, sang and danced with gay abandon assisted by a ‘cast of thousands.’ Songs like Love Story, Shake it Off, Blank Space, You Belong with Me, Anti-Hero and All Too Well: The Short Film. The last named goes on for a full 15 minutes, where our protagonist shows off her acting and singing skills. In other words, you do not merely listen to Taylor Swift (you can if you close your eyes), but you must necessarily watch her as well in order to derive the full benefit and impact of her talent.

 After a while of ‘watching’ this I felt like closing my eyes. None of those songs meant anything to me. They do not easily roll off the tongue like Imagine, Mrs. Robinson, Yesterday or My Way. If anything, Taylor Swift reminds me a lot of a souped-up version of Madonna from the 80s. Not that I had much time for Madonna either. The problem is, I am searching hard for the music, based on which these ladies have been raking in the shekels like you wouldn’t believe, and I am not finding it. If there is a smidgen of melody in any of these songs, it is being kept a closely guarded secret. Rhythm, there is plenty of I admit, but too much of an insistent, driving beat can only result in a splitting headache. I could be inviting howls of protest from the hordes who are yet to obtain their driving licences, but that is a chance I am going to have to take.

It is easy for me, long in the tooth as I am, to sit back and be hyper-critical of a present-day superstar who, with hardly any effort, can sing her way to the top of the charts even if she merely mouthed Baa-baa, black sheep. When I came across Swift’s Love Story music video I thought, ‘Ah, at last she is doing a modern-day cover of that lovely Andy Williams classic, Where do I begin? from the 1970 Hollywood tear-jerker, Love Story. Such, however, was not the case. A false dawn. This was Taylor Swift’s original version which bore no resemblance to the 1970 hit release. More’s the pity.

There is a school of thought that with some songs, a single listening won’t do justice. You need to play it a few times before the song sinks into your consciousness and grows on you. Other songs click instantly mainly because of a catchy hook or tune. Thus, I went back and watched / listened to Taylor Swift’s hit songs three or four times. I put them to the litmus test of going to sleep on them, waking up the next morning to determine if I could still recall the tunes. No dice. Complete blank. Which led me to the ultimate conclusion that Taylor Swift and her ilk have a massive fan following but clearly, I am not of their number. As I said before, it could be a generational thing, but I wouldn’t be holding my breath on the assumption that these songs will still be remembered and sung 50 years from now. Like Strangers in the Night or Autumn Leaves, for example. Something like Swift’s Blank Space is in the now, for the moment, purely ephemeral with no thought of the morrow. Her bank balance, however, could last several generations. Provided she does not spend it all on her wardrobe and make-up. Not to mention fancy cars and plush mansions.

In sum, I have to say that my not being able to appreciate Taylor Swift’s music has nothing to do with her performing skills. She is strutting her stuff and is adored by her millions of fans who are singing her praises. More power to her shapely shoulders. I have to look inwards and psychoanalyze why I am unable to rise to the level of musical sophistication being demanded of me by Swift’s oeuvre. As Shakespeare, who couldn’t help commenting on anything and everything under the sun, succinctly put it, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves.’

Postscript: Taylor Swift’s recent performance at a Seattle stadium generated seismic activity equivalent to a 2.3-magnitude earthquake by the dancing fans. As Carole King sang all those years ago, I Feel the Earth Move Under my Feet.