Here is another вЂњonce upon a timeвЂќ story: Long, long ago, indie bands once feared that if they didnвЂ™t zealously guard their territory, their styles would be subsumed and co-opted by the mainstream. Surely someone out there is still bothered by this. (Its working title was вЂњMaple.вЂќ) The lyrics, for their part, are all Swift, a familiar hybrid of recrimination and regret, painting a highly visual image of lovers tumbling in and out of bed while fumbling with charged emotions: вЂњAnd when I felt like I was an old cardigan/Under someoneвЂ™s bed/You put me on and said I was your favorite.вЂќ With her words set against that moody music, Swift is actually reminiscent of Berninger back when he was in his 30s and documenting drunken hookups in preppy clothes on his bandвЂ™s mid-aughts albums.

Musically, the blend of strings, electronic beats and lonely piano strongly evokes the two most recent National albums - probably because Dessner originally composed the track for his bandmate Matt Berninger to sing.

Listening to вЂњCardigan,вЂќ a standout track from вЂњFolklore,вЂќ you canвЂ™t quite tell where Swift ends and the National begins. Is it possible that the war between the so-called poptimism and rockism camps in culture journalism, waged in the pages of The New York Times and at every major music publication in the aughts and early 2010s, ended not with a bang but with two albums of musically low-key and lyrically incisive quarantine pop? The collaboration between Swift and the NationalвЂ™s Aaron Dessner on her 2020 albums вЂњFolkloreвЂќ and вЂњEvermoreвЂќ has been so well received (and so thoroughly analyzed) that itвЂ™s easy to forget that, just nine years ago, such a partnership would have overwhelmed our nationвЂ™s music-critic think-piece resources. These days, Taylor Swift is no longer being pitted in opposition to an indie act like the National sheвЂ™s making music with them.

And yet her underdog image somehow persisted a little longer, especially after Pitchfork, the defining voice of turn-of-the-century musical hipsterdom, decided to review a full-album cover of вЂњ 1989вЂќ by Ryan Adams and not the far more successful original. The year after that, Swift released вЂњ1989,вЂќ her luxe version of an indie-pop record, selling more than 10 million copies worldwide. The year after вЂњRedвЂќ was released, a new generation of indie stars emerged - Haim, Lorde, the 1975 - that was aesthetically much closer to SwiftвЂ™s pop than anything in the rock underground. What nobody knew, back in 2012, was that the вЂњcool indie recordвЂќ archetype was about to be tossed in the dustbin of the early 21st century. Subtly and quite effectively, Swift managed to position herself as the underdog in this battle - no matter how many platinum records and Grammys she had accumulated by her early 20s. (See, for instance, 2017вЂ™s вЂњReputation,вЂќ Taylor SwiftвЂ™s concept album about Taylor Swift discourse.) That very quotable lyric from вЂњRedвЂќ was, perhaps, a nod to an argument that was raging at the time, one about the supposedly outsize cultural capital afforded to hip, obscure guitar bands versus mass-appeal pop stars. Her big swing is her fourth album, вЂњRed,вЂќ and the first single is a snarky electro-folk tune called вЂњWe Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.вЂќ In the song, Swift calls out an ex by mocking his musical pretensions: вЂњAnd you would hide away and find your peace of mind/With some indie record thatвЂ™s much cooler than mine.вЂќДЄlmost a decade later, this particular line might cause mild confusion among the younger generation: First of all, whatвЂ™s an indie record? And why would Swift suggest anything was cooler than she is? More than any other pop star in her cohort, Swift has always paid close attention to the conversation about her. Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago: ItвЂ™s 2012, and Taylor Swift is a country-music superstar trying to cross over into mainstream pop.

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