Does ‘The Life of a Showgirl’ mark the end of an era?
Taylor Swift is on top of the world. From closing the highest-grossing tour of all time, which earned nearly $2.07 billion, to finding the all-American man of her dreams, she has reached bona fide world stardom. However, listening to “The Life of a Showgirl,” one gains a sense that this is all too much, yet not enough for her.
Swift’s 12th addition to her catalog is touted as a true snapshot of her Eras Tour experiences. To capture this essence, she pivoted from indie rock collaborators Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner and instead spent time between tour dates co-producing and writing with pop hitmakers Max Martin and Shellback, who are credited for several of the superstar’s most notable tracks of the 2010s.
And yet, even with all the markers, the album is unable to meet the high bar Swift has set for it. Rather than showing, it tells listeners throughout its 41-minute runtime how joyful they should be to witness Swift’s rapid rise to god-like success, a joy she can’t seem to express. “I’m immortal now,” she croons in the album’s titular final track, while not sounding all that happy about it.
Failed attempts at relatability
Paired with “The Life of a Showgirl’s” unbridled burnout energy is Swift’s penchant for pettiness; not like it’s new, of course. Songs like “thanK you aIMee” from 2024’s “The Tortured Poets Department” or “Better Than Revenge” from 2010’s “Speak Now” will reveal that she isn’t above musically and verbally eviscerating her rumored enemies on a whim.
“Actually Romantic” is Swift’s similar yet less articulate addition to her past clapbacks. Backed by an electric guitar reminiscent of Wheatus’ “Teenage Dirtbag,” she sings about being called “boring Barbie” and how others might find this offensive. To her, however: “It’s precious, adorable / Like a toy chihuahua barking at me from a tiny purse.” It’s allegedly a response to Charli Xcx’s “Sympathy is a knife,” a song from 2024’s “Brat” where the British performer admits to feelings of inadequacy next to Swift—who previously dated The 1975’s Matty Healy, bandmate of Charli’s husband, George Daniels—and even going so far as to say that “I couldn’t even be her if I tried.”
Charli’s honest and vulnerable discussion about her complicated relationship with other female artists leads to “Actually Romantic” sounding like Swift’s tactless attempt at being the coquettish, doe-eyed victim—as if she’s forgotten that her underdog days are long behind her.
When she isn’t picking one-sided fights with fellow artists, Swift is trying her hand at tongue-in-cheek pop through “Wood,” a disco-inspired track about Travis Kelce, that means exactly what you think it sounds like.
On the other hand, “Cancelled!” sounds far from the dissection of cancel culture it claims to be. With awkwardly written verses like “Did you girlboss too close to the sun?” and “Good thing I like my friends canceled,” Swift sounds stuck in the past, still dwelling on and defending herself from scandals that haven’t been relevant for over a decade.
More than being an indicator of her artistic regression, at 35, Swift’s weak attempts at relatability and inarticulate “hot takes” in “Showgirl” read like a refusal to learn and grow from her past experiences.
A total dissonance
Even instrumentals from the minds of Martin and Shellback couldn’t save this album. Only a few tracks, like the subverted fairytale of “The Fate of Ophelia” and the crystal-clear affection of “Opalite,” manage to evoke the slightest “joyful, wild, [and] dramatic” energy that Swift describes.
“Showgirl” doesn’t have anything new to say, either; it only attempts to sound like it has a point, rather than actually making one. “Eldest Daughter” barely engages with its polarizing titular concept. Instead, it reveals itself as piano-accompanied buzzword-laden slop where Swift sings, “Every joke’s just trolling and memes / Sad as it seems, apathy is hot.”
The only line pertaining to the “eldest daughter” as being “the first lamb to the slaughter” only succeeds in making the most generic observation possible: that they make sacrifices. With how Swift has never meaningfully explored this theme before, it’s almost as if she was simply name-dropping it for relevance rather than genuine insight.
After her failed attempt at adding to the discourse on eldest daughters, Swift doesn’t tap into any other unfamiliar subjects, but returns to one of her all-time favorites: high school, through “Ruin the Friendship.” A recount of her missed opportunity to date a deceased friend from her teen years, the track is well-crafted, but far removed from both the album and Swift’s current position in life.
Little to say, much to navel-gaze
“Showgirl’s” most underwhelming aspect is, by far, its shallow exploration of fame. In “Wi$h Li$t,” Swift yearns for “a driveway with a basketball hoop.” She insists on an indifference to luxuries that she herself could easily afford, like yachts, helicopters, or “Balenci’ shades.”
Yet several tracks earlier in “Elizabeth Taylor,” she refers to the titular actress’ experiences to show what a glamorous life fame can provide and how, even though ”someone to trust” would make these privileges more enjoyable, she would be kidding herself by saying she was willing to trade them away for love.
At Swift’s current level of superstardom, inner turmoil about the highs and lows of celebrity is normal. It’s even expected for an album like “Showgirl,” which is supposedly about an A-list performer’s experiences on- and off-stage. However, Swift’s approach feels less like introspection and more like navel-gazing; an opportunity to recount her own legend without exploring its complexities.
Listeners may have been promised theatrical storytelling and emotional depth from “The Life of a Showgirl,” but after the curtains close, only one thing is clear: At the height of achievement, it seems as though Swift has run out of ideas, or at least forgotten how to express them.
