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Even before Florence Welch kicks off her verse in “Florida!!!,” the chorus’ explosive repetition of the song title hits hard with nostalgic 2010s indie rock, perhaps an alt-universe Swiftian take on Sufjan Stevens’ “Illinois.”
As another title states, “So Long, London,” indeed.
It would be a disservice to read Swift’s songs as purely diaristic, but that track — the fifth on this album, which her fans typically peg as the most devastating slot on each album — evokes striking parallels to her relationship with a certain English actor she split with in 2023. Place it next to a sleepy love ode like “The Alchemy,” with its references to “touchdown” and cutting someone “from the team” and well … art imitates life.
Revenge is still a pervasive theme. But where the reprisal anthems on “Midnights” were vindictive, on “The Tortured Poets Department,” there are new complexities: “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” combines the musical ambitiousness of “evermore” and “folklore” — and adds a resounding bass on the bridge — with sensibilities ripped from the weapons-drawn, obstinate “Reputation.” But here, Swift mostly trades victimhood for self-assurance, warts and all.
“Who’s afraid of little old me?” she sings. “You should be,” she responds.
And yet, “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived” may be her most biting song to date: “You didn’t measure up in any measure of a man,” she sings atop propulsive piano. “I’ll forget you, but I won’t ever forgive,” she describes her target, likely the same “tattooed golden retriever,” a jejune description, mentioned in the title track.
Missteps are few, found in other mawkish lyrics and songs like “Down Bad” and “Guilty as Sin?” that falter when placed next to the album’s more meditative pop moments.
Elsewhere, Swift holds up a mirror to her melodrama and melancholy — she’s crying at the gym, don’t tell her about “sad,” is she allowed to cry? She died inside, she thinks you might want her dead; she thinks she might just die. She listens to the voices that tell her “Lights, camera, bitch, smile / Even when you want to die,” as she sings on “I Can Do It with a Broken Heart,” a song about her own performances — onstage and as a public figure.
“I’m miserable and nobody even knows!” she laughs at the end of the song before sighing, “Try and come for my job.”
