There was a time when I found myself in the grips of sorrow and grief so profound that I often dreamed I was drowning. It was early in 2020: my mother was dying, and COVID-19 was turning the world upside down. While it seemed the universe was conspiring against us all, it felt like it was crushing me.
A couple months after my mother died, Taylor Swift released her album “folklore”; I gave it a listen in my hunt for comfort when grief kept me from sleep. It drew me in. I listened to that album over and over and over on headphones so I didn’t wake the rest of the house. It was as if Swift saw me foundering in my drowning dreams and tossed me a musical lifesaver. That album was sweet, sweet balm for my sad, sad soul, one song more exquisite than the next. I couldn’t get enough — “folklore” was surprising and familiar, loving and comforting — and I clung to it tightly as it buoyed me along my grief-stricken, heartbroken journey.
Until then, I had never been a big Taylor Swift fan. I was aware of her, of course — who in this world isn’t? — but I hadn’t spent much time with her music. To be honest, as one raised by Laura Nyro and Carole King and Joni Mitchell, I admit to being a boomer music snob who believed there could never be a reason to look any further for musical girl power, especially from one so young.
So, I paid little attention to Swift: I didn’t follow her love life, I didn’t read news coverage or social media about her, and I didn’t seek out her music.
I was eventually led to the altar of Taylor Swift by Ryan Adams and his song-by-song, word-for-word cover of Swift’s 2014 album “1989.” I have long loved Adams, who does sad like no other, and he became my bridge to Swift. I fell in love with her songs through his heartbroken reimagining of them as he coped with his divorce.
He also made me curious, and I listened to a couple of Swift’s original “1989” songs to compare. After listening to Adams’ versions, I found hers too sparkly. His heartbroken take on her album was so lovely. And Swift agreed: “There’s this beautiful, aching sadness and longing in this album that doesn’t exist in the original,” she said in an interview.
So I was content to let Adams’ interpretation of Swift’s beautifully crafted songs be what I knew of her, and while I preferred his “1989” to hers, I discovered there was substance to her work. I was impressed.
While Ryan Adams’ “1989” cracked open the door to Swift’s music for me, she swung it wide open and waved me in with “folklore”; I walked right through and never looked back.
Soon after that I met a Swiftie who was much, much younger than me, and with whom I could unabashedly share my fandom. From her I learned that three of my favorite songs on “folklore” — “betty,” “august,” and “cardigan” — formed a romantic musical triangle. I hadn’t realized they were bound together; now that I know the backstory weaving through the three, I will never, ever hear them the same way again.
Yes, I am an aging boomer and I love Taylor Swift. She is a singular talent, the likes of which we may not see again any time soon. Before 2023 — the year of The Eras Tour, when EVERYONE became obsessed with her, it seems — I hadn’t shared my fan-girl status with many, thinking I was an outlier — one way-too-old-to-be-a-Swift-fan — but I was wrong.
I began mentioning her to others when I was out and about, to crack the door open just a bit; I’ve been pleased at how many people have walked right through. I’ve learned there are a lot of us who didn’t grow up with Taylor Swift, who never attended one of her concerts or wore a friendship bracelet, who aren’t aware of — or even care about — her dating history. We were ecstatically gobsmacked by the “Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour” film (some of us even more than a couple times). We admire her business savvy and celebrate her success; we appreciate her inclusivity and are inspired by her generosity; we love how young girls look up to her and we root for her continued creativity.
We are also hopelessly enchanted by what appears to be a dizzyingly happy relationship with her football-playing boyfriend.
And because grief circles back when we least expect it, I am binging “folklore” once again on my headphones in the middle of the night as I write.
