![]() ![]() She almost certainly wrote some well-known songs on it, but can’t recall which ones. In a corner is an acoustic guitar Swift played as a teenager. The black-walled room is decorated with black-and-white classic-rock photos, including shots of Bruce Springsteen and, unsurprisingly, James Taylor there are also more recent shots of Swift posing with Kris Kristofferson and playing with Def Leppard, her mom’s favorite band. Just before the session, Swift sits down in her mom’s study (where she “operates the Google,” per her daughter) to chat for a few minutes. She’s about to play them her seventh album, as-yet unreleased on this Sunday afternoon in early August, and offer copious commentary. In an airy terrace, 113 giddy, weepy, shaky, still-in-disbelief fans are waiting for the start of one of Swift’s secret sessions, sacred rituals in Swift-dom. It could be any 29-year-old’s weekend visit with her parents, if not for the madness looming a few feet down the hall. Her mom’s two dogs, one very small, one very large, pounce upon visitors with slurping glee. Around the black-granite kitchen island, all is calm and normal, as Swift’s mom, dad, and younger brother pass through. It’s all in keeping with the pastel aesthetic of her new album, Lover black-leather combat-Taylor from her previous album cycle has handed back the phone. (That red-lip, classic thing? Check.) “I need someone to help dye my hair pink,” she says, and moments later, her ends match her sparkly nail polish, sneakers, and the stripes on her button-down. Taylor Swift bursts into her mom’s Nashville kitchen, smiling, looking remarkably like Taylor Swift. ![]()
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