We all remember where we were. In the midst of a pandemic, a rumored One Direction reunion, and a brutal summer in isolation, on the morning of July 23, 2020, Taylor Swift quite literally broke the internet with her announcement that she would be releasing her eighth studio album that night. Straying from industry protocol and her own routine, for the first time, she released an album with no prior promotion, no singles, and no forewarning. She stepped out of the limelight of pop hits and catchy choruses and into a Stevie Nicks-esque fantasy land that she imagined to take place in another reality or off in the woods of a faraway land. With her album, Folklore, Swift relinquishes her autobiographical songwriting and crafts her own characters in her own universe, and with a momentous announcement, she welcomed millions into her haven.

In her documentary Miss Americana, which closely preceded Folklore, Swift confesses her fears that Lover era had been her “last chance” to obtain the level of acclaim that she had once received; in hindsight, we can see that she could not have been more wrong, and she might just owe that to Folklore. By abandoning her own desire to top charts and break records, she unknowingly opened herself to a limitless realm of artistic possibilities, experimenting with yet another genre of music and new producers. Little did she know, but she just happened to give people exactly what they were so desperately craving: an escape.

The album starts out strong with the simple but poignant, “I’m doing good / I’m on some new s***.” With that reassurance, Swift proceeds to drift further from reality with each track, beginning with “The 1,” in which she copes with the end of a relationship through a lens that she has never explored before. While she does include a few typical breakup songs on Folklore, many of which are in reference to hypothetical situations, she approaches them with more maturity than she has in the past, writing with a tone that is more regretful than it is scorned on both “The 1” and “Exile.”

Almost serving as a nod to her work from her teenage years, Swift also re-examines young love on Folklore with the added insight that she has gained in the years since she experienced it firsthand. Specifically, the trio of songs “Cardigan,” “August,” and “Betty” slyly depicts the story of two 17-year-olds named Betty and James who break up after James unfaithfully spends the summer with another girl, who is often called Augustine. The three tracks overlap each other despite being scattered around the album, almost in a theater-like fashion. Swift writes from the perspective of each teenager, granting all three of them empathy and the benefit of the doubt, something that she admits to have overlooked as a younger writer. Whether listeners see themselves in Betty, Augustine, or James, the songs can be appreciated individually or through the context of the rom-com-like plotline that Swift created through merely three tracks.

While the love-triangle is certainly a highlight of Folklore, Swift spends a majority of the record covering much more complex issues than teenage love. In one of her most lyrically impressive tracks, My Tears Ricochet, she provides insight to her ferocious reaction to Scooter Braun’s infamous purchase of the masters of her first six albums, actually addressing her former manager, Scott Borchetta. In response to his betrayal, she explains that she “didn’t have it in herself to go with grace,” pointing out that despite his denial of her pain, he ultimately ended up experiencing the same devastation as his career sank without her. She references the same situation in the caustic “Mad Woman,” which expertly conveys its feminist message through an eloquent description of how her enemies “poke that bear till her claws come out / and [they] find something to wrap [their] noose around,” which proves to even more effective than her previous strategy of parading her activism through generalized descriptions of her struggles.

In “Epiphany,” Swift soberly compares her late grandfather’s experiences fighting in World War II with the agony shared by millions of people at the time, while Covid was at its peak. With this track, she once again demonstrates that the most effective songs aiming for unification are subtle, respectful, and acknowledge tragedy instead of artificially preaching the importance of hope and positivity, disregarding the people who are actually suffering.

Continuing with the trend of acknowledging difficult subjects through this album, Swift opens up yet again about her struggles with mental health in “This is Me Trying.” She manages to articulate a feeling of helplessness that so many people experience, discussing how burnout can impact those who experience depression for the first time with no prior basis of coping with it. This track is painfully vulnerable, touching on topics like suicide and alcoholism but coming together with a twist that only ever-positive Swift could design; despite all of her flaws and failures, she cushions the shame with the line found in the song’s title, promising that she is trying her very best. Similarly, in “Mirrorball,” she uses an intricate and perfect metaphor, comparing herself to the mirrorball hanging over a dance floor, designed to dazzle people. Like a mirrorball, she has also been shattered and put back together in order to shine, and while this comparison can be applicable to anyone, it is heightened by her status as a celebrity whose personal life is exploited for the entertainment of the masses. Finally, she acknowledges her anxiety again in “Peace,” conceding she cannot be in love without dragging her partner into the spotlight and subjecting them to the same scrutiny that she chose for herself, warning them that danger is “just around the corner” because “it lives in [her].” On this tragically romantic track, she discloses her fears that she will never be enough because, no matter what, she will never be able to give someone she loves a “normal” life.

Despite its overall gloominess, this album does also contain some lighter tracks. In “Invisible String,” she declares that she was destined to find her love, highlighting the parallels between their lives and tying them together with the idea of serendipity. This contrasts Swift’s typically pragmatic outlook, as she muses about fate and soulmates through sweet vocals and a mystical melody. In “Seven,” she reflects on a friendship with a figure from her childhood with nostalgia, recalling loving them “to the moon and to Saturn,” and in “The Last Great American Dynasty” she cleverly depicts the story of a socialite named Rebekah Harkness, who caused trouble while owning Swift’s Rhode Island mansion before her. Swift comedically acknowledges the similarities between both women, proudly declaring them both “the loudest woman this town has ever seen,” bonding over the fact that they “had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

With confidence in her artistry and a clear image of who she is, Swift definitively proves herself as a songwriter with Folklore. If anyone still doubted her abilities after her first seven albums, she proved them wrong with her wisdom and vocabulary on this record, securing at least three more years of even greater success and a third Grammy for Album of the Year. With Folklore, Taylor Swift broke precedence, records, and hearts and extended her legacy from a successful pop star to a venerated lyricist.

PS: Stream 1989 (Taylor’s Version) tonight at midnight!!!!!