Good morning. Hello. How are you? #1155
Double issue: Jane is sick, my love of public non-Tesla charging stations, greenhouse work, giant 4x4 wooden floating turtle sunbathing platform. Issue two: 1,600 words about TPPD.
Good morning. Greetings from Chatham County, North Carolina, on a coldish cloudy spring morning, 8:11 AM. I am in my basement office writing this to you, listening to Taylor Swift’s TTPD for the… seventh time this weekend? But we’ll get to that. My daughter Jane is sitting on the toilet in the other room and any moment now we will have to have that super-fun discussion to have where I explain to her that we all have to wipe our own butt, and that she is going to be super embarrassed when she’s an adult when she remembers till what age she kept bugging me to wipe her butt.
Why is my six year-old daughter Jane in the bathroom and not at school, you ask. Well good question. Her tummy hurts. Or did, until I said she didn’t have to go to school, which was at the school, in the problem-solvers spots, after going through the drop-off lane and her announcing, for the first time this morning, that she was sick and didn’t want to go to school. But I should have known. The whole morning was… sad. Just sad. She was just sad and didn’t know why. This resulted in an awkward, child-sized conversation about depression and I swear to god I felt like Dexter’s dad explaining how to act like a normal person when you’re a serial killer.
Do I need to link on Dexter there? We all know Dexter, right? That’s a wide-spread cultural reference, right? I don’t even know. Maybe someone can invent an AI that tells us if we should hyperlink something based on widespread cultural awareness. Oh wait that would be a useful AI feature, so we are not going to get it.
Anyway, after I said she could stay home she cheered right up. Even said she’d play by herself, since that was a giant fucking problem on her last sick day just last week.
Even before all this, last night, I was already depressed about the coming week. I cannot fucking stand waking up at 6:10 AM it is not getting any easier, I am counting the days till school ends but I am already depressed about next year, and the next year, and the next year, and the next year, and the next year, and the next year. That takes us to the end of sixth grade and guess what! This is a county where middle school starts at the same time! And she won’t be able to drive for another four or five years!
Maybe she’ll want to take the bus.
Anyway. Had a great weekend before all of that. On Friday I drove to Peterburg, Virginia to meet my friend Todd Demma who, among other things, is the drummer for The Chameleons UK, and quite some time ago he brokered the sale of one of Mark Burgess’s amps – a Vox AC30 — to me. It had been at Todd’s house since the last US tour. So Todd and I met at Huddle House, a great little regional IHOP rip-off, because Peterburg was halfway between the town in Maryland where Todd lives and my house.
Todd and I have been friends for, um… twenty years? Twenty-five? We shot the shit about a lot of our mutual friends, caught up on how and why the two of us both ended up in the mid-atlantic. It was great. We are grown-ass men in our 50’s so we did not think to take a picture of each other for social media, whoops. Then we did the amp deal in the parking lot of Huddle House, and hey fun fact I am probably the only person in the world who knows, well, except Todd: A Vox AC30 fits perfectly into the frunk of a Ford F-150 Lightning. The More You Know™.
Aforementioned Lightning had 44% charge when I got there, so I needed to recharge on the way home, so I hit some other little town where there was a Walmart and a bunch of DC fast chargers. I parked next to a Mach-E, Ioniq 5 and a R1T and plugged in and then got my Walmart Friday, even if it was at a different, much larger, much nicer Walmart man I have Walmart envy. Their record section was huge. Not that it had anything different in it. I had half a hope there was TTPD in it, but it’s a Target exclusive, I forgot.
Got back out to the charger and there as this sloppy, messy couple in a pristine R1S. Just gorgeous, matte black. Also, weirdly, both Rivian owners at that charger kept polishing rags in their frunk and polished the car as it was charging. Weird. Anyway, they went into the Walmart and I peeked in their car — never seen an R1S up close before — and it was so dirty inside, just crammed to the gills, like hoarder style. Such a contrast from the outside. Like Taylor dancing on stage with a broken heart.
As I was peaking a bro dude in a white Hummer EV Truck showed up and I had to stop looking through other people’s windows (another Taylor reference yo). He was icky. The car was absurd.
But all in all, I love public non-Tesla charging stations. They are just such a great panoply, a veritable cornucopia of non-Tesla EVs. So many interesting cars.
Rest of the weekend was spent doing Daddy school, Youtube, Civ and chores chores chores are the best.
I spray-painted a new five foot wide, two foot tall wire shelf satin black, let it dry, and put it into the greenhouse to put all the storage bins down low, below the base wall, so you couldn’t see them from the outside. Emma pointed this out when she was sitting in the rocking chair on Chore House’s front porch looking at the greenhouse, and the wall of white bins was blocking a lovely view. It is fixed. She was right. It is much better.
Also got the whole thing cleaned up and organized. And then I built a carboard mockup of the shape of the garden bench I want to build. It fits perfectly. Now I need to figure out where the sink, garbage can, compost bucket and mesh potting area go on it. Did a bunch of research and picked out a sink and a pull-out two-bin garbage under-cabinet thingy like in a posh kitchen. They are en route. Now I will make cardboard shapes of them all and move them around till I get them right where I want them, and then I will move on to wood.
Oh I also finally un-clamped Emma’s lawn ornament mushroom, checked it out, and the Lexel-and-steel repair job worked marvelously. I placed it back on the ground by the driveway. In a slightly different place where I won’t back into it again. Still need a a paint touch-up. It’s on the list.
Sunday I built a giant 4x4 wooden floating turtle sunbathing platform for Emma. Well, it’s not quite done — it needs to be painted and waterproofed and I gotta figure out the anchor and ballast but we are in pretty good shape. It looks great. It was a great way to spend a rainy Sunday, thank you wife for reminding me to build it. Got to use the new Bosch miter saw, and spent way too much time sanding. Sanding is very therapeutic when you allot enough time to it. Maddening when you don’t. I did not.
Still, it is built and I am proud of it. Behold.
Oh hey yesterday was April 21st, so Happy Earth Day, obligatory Dramarama mention for their Earth Day anthem “What are we Gonna Do?”
Two sessions of Daddy School this weekend. First one was really productive, we learned about the conscious and subconscious, and various interpretations of it. Explained to her that the subconsciousness does the things we don’t think about and the things we don’t know why we did. Taught her to say that she must have done it subconsciously when she does something she doesn’t know why she did it. I feel like that would be very useful to her and she was excited about it but it hasn’t clicked yet, that is fine.
Second daddy school was far less Successful. I endeavored to keep on with history and talk about the Egyptians, but she wasn’t interested, the mask was off and really she wanted to be the teacher and teach the stuffies… how to climb and basically “be still.” I get the sense that when kids are manic in class, her kindergarten teacher makes them become still and say “still.” Jane is very into this. She is recreating it all the time. I really want to know more.
And now she is being suspiciously silent in the other room and it is making me very nervous.
Today’s Media of the Day is, of course, The Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift. I have now listened to it (and Anthology) six and a half times. Let me just change the record to side C.
Where to begin.
The thing is long.
To clarify: TTPD proper isn’t long. But it comes with an entire extra album, or is it a double-album version. “Anthology” it is called. It is unclear if that is the title of the version of the album with a bonus album, or a second album, Use your Illusion-style. It seems the former. And most people are referring to TTPD Anthology Edition when they talk about TTPD. As if it is the canonical version.
A traditionalist music nerd would say that it needed an editor, and indeed the New York Times said as much. Yet all of us who pre-ordered this album only got TTPD non-anthology, which is about half as long. So in some ways she did have an editor. She just let the editor do her job, and then ignored her? It is confusing.
Though maybe she was right to ignore the editor, because the editor did not pick the best songs. More than a few of the songs I find forgettable. But that is not the point.
I have come to realize that Taylor is, like myself, a graphomaniac. The woman cannot stop writing. I can relate. And I can relate to her disdain of editors, because you literally just read about me getting gas earlier in this essay.
But I cannot really project beyond that, because in my life I do not support an entire economy with my writing. I do not have to earn a living or please other people or maintain my lead in the race against Rihanna to be the best-selling modern artist. Her reality surrounding her graphomania is radically different than mine. So who knows. But I have sympathy for all graphomaniacs, so I am not going to complain about the length. And yet: right now I am listening to a song I listened to six times and I have zero recollection of it. (It seems the song is called “Guilty as Sin.” Huh.)
Like all good graphomaniacs, Taylor is processing her problems and trauma with her writing. I respect that. I am into it.
However.
The thing is, like, Taylor is a professional songwriter? And that complexifies things, because songwriters do not always write about their own life? Sometimes they tell stories? Is Taylor writing about her life or is she writing stories? And Taylor herself complicates this even more with her easter eggs and conflicting explicit statements. Taylor is an absolute master of walking a line of plausible deniability and mystery. It really is amazing. The only other person who ever came close was Eminem.
But the other other thing is: if this is all 100% true, it is psychotic! And deeply problematic. It glorifies mental illness, it is self-conflicting in a million places. It is insane! It is simultaneously lacking any self-awareness whatsoever, and deeply self-aware.
One example: the song “thanK you aIMee”: A harrowing song about bullying in, presumably, high school. This woman seems to really have fucked Taylor up. The chorus brings her mom into it, saying her mom is a “saintly person but even she said she hoped you’d die.” That is harsh! That is intense! That is the sort of thing a protective mother would think about a high school kid, that is rational, but not about, you know, a global celebrity and your adult hundred-millionaire kid. And in the song she says explicitly that she changed every detail so that no one in the world would know who the song was about except the two of them! But then she goes and capitalizes the K, I and M in the title so the whole world thinks it’s about Kim Kardashian, which she just said it wasn’t! And the song would be deeply sad and dumb were it about Kim Kardashian! But she said it wasn’t! But she should have known in capitalizing those letters that everyone would think it was Kim! And they all do! Except that is the ultimate red herring to make the line about disguising it perfectly 100% true. Except no one thinks that. And this is all a completely bonkers thing for a monstrously intelligent, all-powerful billionaire to do to a fading starlet. Punch up not down!
It is all insane.
So now the entire world is like “oh it turns out she was in love with Matt Healy the entire time” and I’m like… um okay. I do not care. I choose to view these as songs from a songwriter, not a diary. Even though she is a graphomaniac. But graphomania does not necessarily have to manifest in non-fiction, I suppose. And with Taylor, we all have to choose where to resolve the enigmas.
(Another benefit of viewing these as songs from a songwriter is you can view the multiple blatant Olivia Rodrigo allusions as one songwriter hat-tipping another, like Dylan would, and not beefing).
This album is a book of deeply personal poetry that also happens to probably be untrue and/or insane and that is just fine. We all love that shit. That’s what poetry’s all about.
What I cannot get behind, however, is the production.
Taylor is a massively talented artist. She is a phenomenal performer, a great songwriter. She has a keen ability to connect with her audience like no other.
But she is absolutely garbage at choosing producers.
To be clear: This is not a fireable offense. Most of her fans will not care. And the production she does choose is a) completely normal these days and, thus, theoretically inoffensive to production normies, and b) done by a person who is by all accounts a good person and a close friend so, you know, loyalty.
Bad production is subconsciously noticed by everyone, but consciously noticed by only a few people. Many people have — and will continue — to comment on the albums sameyness, dull polish, and mid-tempo lethargy. It does not take an expert to notice this. It does take, though, someone who is not a giant fan, willing to ignore it, and someone who listens to entire albums. This is a small percentage of people, of course. But they are out there, and most of them will notice.
I cannot convey how much I loathe the production on this album. I cannot convey how utterly sick I am of Jack Antonoff’s production style. I cannot convey my utter shock that a person so widely considered kind and talented hasn’t fucking evolved. It is anger-inducing to me. There is not a single noticeable guitar on the album proper. Anthology (still not sure this is the correct terminology) is somewhat better, more varied in its production. But still. My god. So boring. So milquetoast.
And look. I am not saying this as someone who loves the new Neubauten or foisted Keji Haino & Sumac on my daughter this morning. I am saying this as someone who also played Feist, Pat Benetar and Carly Rae for my daughter this morning.
But of course Taylor is ready for it. The last line of the album proper is “You look just like Taylor Swift you’ve got edge she never did.” She’s cutting off any critique of her boring-ass production right there, smarter than you, saw it coming, you don’t get it. Well no, yes I do. The production is garbage. It was wise to bring in the brothers Dessner to improve upon Jack’s blahs, but in hindsight they were not the best choice. They can add a drop of… depression to Jack’s production, but they do not add… unpredictability. Surprise. Excitement.
(Oh man the album (and bonus song, (I have “The Manuscript” edition)) is over and I just put on Curve’s Doppelganger from more than Thirty Years Ago and it sounds so much more daring, bold and modern than TTPD. Insane.)
And I guess that’s it, really: the lyrics are so gonzo, unhinged, raw, real. And the production is like a Hallmark movie. The dichotomy is jarring.
That being said, it might be my favorite album? Because now I have to do something bold and say that basically I think that Taylor is becoming Leonard Cohen in his Casiotone phase. I hated Leonard’s Casiotone stylings for two or three albums. And he just kept doing it, kept putting out amazing songs — including one of the most-covered songs ever — with almost nothing but a Casiotone keyboard for backing. It was terrifying, it was surreal, it was depressing and deeply uncomfortable.
But then he toured with a full band and you’re like “eh, you know, this is nice but it’s not that much better than the Casiotone vibe” and also for one song on the tour they literally wheeled out a Casiotone in front of him, the band stopped playing, and he did a song in the style of his last like six albums…
and you’re thinking “Shit yeah! Casiotone hommage!”
A great songwriter has the power to transcend. crappy production, and Taylor has done so.
She is growing up, she is not pandering to her base, she is doing what she needs to, what she feels, and she is trusting her fans to come along. I love the repeating metaphors around rings and marriage and… the nostalgic sheen over the whole thing. I fuckin love nostalgia, I love thinking about exes, I love thinking about the past. What musician among us hasn’t thought about doing an album about all your exes? I fuckin love drama, I love romance, I love matters of the heart. I am here for it.
I’ve cut down the album to the ten songs that I view the best. They move me muchly, they are great. “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” is possibly the best song Taylor has ever released.
Think of this Abbreviated Poets Dept. as the bold lines in the GMHHAY paragraphs I give for the skimmer.
Wow, I can't believe Todd sold you Mark Burgess’s AC30. That's what I get for only knowing Ruben & Valerie. Cheers!