Taylor Swift review, Folklore: This shimmering album is exquisite, piano-based poetry

This is an unconventional record – at least for the world’s biggest pop star. It’s also brilliant

Taylor Swift in artwork for her eighth album, 'Folklore' (Beth Garrabrant)

Until this week, Taylor Swift had executed her album campaigns with all the meticulous planning of a military general. Clues were dropped months in advance; there were easter eggs, picture puzzles and obscure social media references. For her eighth album, announced less than 24 hours in advance, all of that went out the window. This is an unconventional record – at least for the world’s biggest pop star. It’s also brilliant.

Swift’s 2019 album, Lover, was a return of sorts to her lush, romantic compositions of old. Those songs were visions of spring in pastel pink and purple, following the winter storms raging on Reputation. Folklore, then, is the hot ache of late summer, where infatuation and nostalgia thrive; the scent of woodsmoke and red wine hangs in the air. Written and recorded in isolation, it includes collaborations with Swift’s “musical heroes” – The National’s Aaron Dessner, Bon Iver, and her frequent songwriting partner and co-producer Jack Antonoff. There are no pop bangers here, just exquisite, piano-based poetry.

There are characters Swift has never introduced before. Some are fictional, it seems; some are inspired by family members; some are people Swift wishes she hadn’t met. Folklore’s songs care less for those showstopping one-liners and more about the small details. “I have this dream/ You’re doing cool s***,” Swift sings on “the 1”. “Having adventures on your own/ You meet some woman on the internet/ And take her home.”

‘Folklore is the hot ache of late summer, where infatuation and nostalgia thrive; the scent of woodsmoke and red wine hangs in the air’ (Beth Garrabrant)

“Cardigan” continues what was touched upon on Reputation highlight “Call It What You Want”. Scarred by the public’s constant scrutiny of her personal life, Swift is overjoyed to have found someone who doesn’t care about her past. The stark chords playfully reference The National’s “Light Years”, while Swift’s yearning cadence on the chorus emulates Lana Del Rey’s “Young and Beautiful”. Justin Vernon’s pummelling lower register contrasts perfectly with her ethereal intonations on “exile”. Swift’s vengeful streak appears on “mad woman”, not least with her debut use of the word “f***” in a song. Unlike “Look What You Made Me Do”, though, her anger now doesn’t sound so brittle ­– she’s a witch from Macbeth, weaving fates while powerful men prove to be their own worst enemies.

“Mirrorball”, written with Antonoff, is one of their best collaborations – it’s uninhibited, dreamlike, shimmering. The instrumentation builds like the swell of waves before they crash against the shore. Swift has always had a particular talent for describing secret behaviour in exquisite detail – on Folklore she’s outdone herself. “Look at this idiotic fool that you made me,” she despairs on “illicit affairs”. “You taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else/ And you know damn well/ For you I would ruin myself.” Arguably the most moving song on the album is “seven” – with its filigrees of violin and acoustic guitar – paying tribute to eternal childhood friendships.

“Before this year,” Swift wrote on Instagram, “I probably would’ve overthought when to release this music as the ‘perfect’ time, but the times we’re living in keep reminding me that nothing is guaranteed. My gut is telling me that if you make something you love, you should just put it out into the world.” Maybe there wasn’t a perfect time to release Folklore. But it’s a near-perfect album.