The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology by Taylor Swift
If you’re expecting Taylor Swift to wrap herself in bubblegum melodies and fairy-tale endings, The Tortured Poets Department might feel like stepping into a darkly-lit poetry reading where someone left the door open to a therapy session. But honestly? You won’t want to leave.
Swift’s 11th studio album dives headfirst into emotional wreckage with the self-awareness of someone who’s both lived through the drama and now gets paid to narrate it with precision. Here, the queen of heartbreak gives us what she does best—witty, incisive lyrics—but with a twist of acid, less inclined to sweeten the blow for the listener or herself. If folklore and Evermore were Swift processing pain quietly in the woods, this is her taking those emotions into a stadium, making them louder and more unapologetic.
The production, a heady mix of folklore’s acoustic textures and the glittery sheen of Midnights, comes together in a way that’s more cohesive than either. Aaron Dessner and Jack Antonoff once again work their magic—though this time, they’ve dialed the intensity up a notch. Tracks like “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” bring an unexpected Vince Clarke-inspired disco groove, while “So Long, London” and “Clara Bow” remind us that Taylor hasn’t fully abandoned her introspective balladry. There’s also a brilliant collaboration with Florence Welch on “Florida,” which is as chaotic and addictive as its chorus would have you believe.
As always, Swift’s lyrics are the crown jewel. In true Taylor form, she lures you in with stories that feel intensely personal, yet universal enough to make you squirm. The album features a parade of tortured ex-lovers and self-deprecating humor that ranges from sly to biting. “My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys” and “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” are perfect examples of her signature wit, taking aim at emotionally unavailable men with surgical precision. The metaphors are sharp, and at times, hilariously self-aware—Swift’s grown comfortable poking fun at the chaos of her romantic life.
“Fortnight,” featuring Post Malone, might just be the oddest—and most infectious—track here. It’s moody yet strangely anthemic, and Swift’s ability to pull off such an unexpected collaboration with ease is a testament to her versatility. On the other end of the spectrum is the gentle “loml” (that’s “love of my life,” for the uninitiated), a soft, acoustic break from the album’s heavier beats, which feels like an exhale mid-way through the emotional ride.
The album is long—31 tracks, including the Anthology edition—but it manages to stay coherent, despite the shifting moods. There’s an arc to the chaos; Swift begins with the wreckage of her romantic life and slowly moves towards acceptance (and maybe even a little hope). The pacing is deliberate, with moments of reflection following each sonic punch, much like Swift herself navigating public heartbreaks while still dominating the pop world. The journey from devastation to tentative empowerment makes for a more engaging experience than the straight-up nostalgia of Midnights.
