The spectacle of Taylor Swift blubbering through a 21-minute acceptance speech at the Hall of Fame has been hailed by British songwriters as a ‘masterclass’. One wonders if they have confused emotional incontinence with artistic merit. In the Victorian era, a lady was encouraged to maintain composure.
Now, we celebrate the ability to publicly unravel like a cheap cardigan. Swift’s oration, replete with breathless anecdotes and self-congratulatory sighs, was less a speech than a therapy session broadcast live. Her defenders point to her songwriting.
I point to the fact that Fall of Rome parallels are easy when a nation worships celebrities as deities. This is not a masterclass; it is a sign of intellectual decadence. We have traded substance for sentiment, craft for catharsis.
The British songwriters who praised this display should be ashamed of themselves. They have lowered the bar to the floor.
