rankings

All 179 Taylor Swift Songs, Ranked

There are at least ten stone-cold classics in her discography.

Photo: James White

In all my years in the business, there have been two subjects that could boost your page views like nothing else:Game of Thrones and Taylor Swift. One of them is a massive, multimillion-dollar enterprise filled with violence and betrayal, and the other aired on HBO. For more than a decade, a 31-year-old woman from Wyomissing, Pennsylvania, has found herself at the center of our national conversations about race, gender, celebrity, victimhood, and even the intricacies of recording contract law. And, outside the legions of fans who eat up everything she puts out, no take on her ever stays solid for long. She was a precocious teenager, and the ultimate embodiment of white privilege. She's been feminism's worst nightmare, and an advocate for victims of sexual assault. The world's most famous serial dater, now settled into a long-term relationship with the guy from The Favourite. Some people say she's a goddess of the alt-right. Other people say she's Jewish.

And yet, if the word on her has shifted since her debut, it's because we've changed, not her. Swift — or at least the version of Swift on her albums — has remained largely the same person since her debut: a thin-skinned, bighearted obsessive, with a penchant for huge romantic moments. On her first five albums, her characters never eased into a relationship. Instead, they showed up at each other's doors late at night and they kissed in the rain. An unworthy suitor wouldn't just say something thoughtless; he'd skip a birthday party, or leave a teenage girl crying alone in a hotel room. (This aspect of her songwriting matured somewhat with the coming of the Joe Alwyn era, as the love stories got slightly more quotidian, but even those were filled with secret affairs begun in dark bars — a mite more dramatic than Netflix and chill.) Listen to her songs and you'll ache at the resemblance to the most dramatic moments in your own private history. Listen to too many and you might ache again at the nagging feeling that those stories of yours have all been a bit uneventful and drab by comparison. What sort of real life can stand up against fantasies like these?

So, uh, I don't recommend you listen to this list top to bottom.

But I do recommend sampling as many of these songs as you see fit. Even with the widespread critical embrace of poptimism — a development I suspect has as much to do with the economics of online media as it does with the shifting winds of taste — there are still those who see Swift as just another industry widget, a Miley or Katy with the tuner set to "girl with a guitar." If this list does anything, I hope it convinces you that, underneath all the think pieces, exes, and feuds, she is one of our era's great singer-songwriters. She may not have the raw vocal power of some of her competitors, but what she lacks in Mariah-level range she makes up for in versatility and personality. (A carpetbagger from the Pennsylvania suburbs, she became an expert code-switcher early in her career and never looked back.) And when it comes to writing instantly memorable pop songs, her only peers are a few anonymous Swedish guys, none of whom perform their own stuff. I count at least ten stone-cold classics in her discography. Others might see more. No matter how high your defenses, I guarantee you'll find at least one that breaks them down.

Some ground rules: We're ranking every Taylor Swift song that's ever been released with her name on it — which means we must sadly leave out the unreleased 9/11 song "Didn't They" as well as Nils Sjöberg's "This Is What You Came For" —excluding tracks where Swift is merely "featured" (no one's reading this list for B.o.B.'s "Both of Us") butincluding a few duets where she gets an "and" credit. Songwriting is an important part of Swift's spell book, so covers are treated more harshly than originals. Because Swift's career began so young, we're left in the awkward position of judging work done by a literal high schooler, which can feel at times like punching down. I'll try to make slight allowances for age, reserving the harshest criticism for the songs written when Swift was an adult millionaire.

*This list was originally published in November 2017. It has been updated to include Swift's subsequent releases. Additionally, some rankings have changed to reflect the author's evolving taste. Like another famous Pennsylvanian , this is a living document.

"There's a mistake that I see artists make when they're on their fourth or fifth record, and they think innovation is more important than solid songwriting," Swift toldNew York back in 2013. "The most terrible letdown as a listener for me is when I'm listening to a song and I see what they were trying to do." To Swift's credit, it took her six records to get to this point. On a conceptual level, the mission here is clear: After the Kim-Kanye feud made her the thinking person's least-favorite pop star, this comeback single would be her grand heel turn. But the villain costume sits uneasily on Swift's shoulders, and even worse, the songwriting just isn't there. The verses are vacuous, the insults have no teeth, and just when the whole thing seems to be leading up to a gigantic redemptive chorus, suddenlypop!The air goes out of it and we're left with a taunting Right Said Fred reference — the musical equivalent of pulling a Looney Tunes gag on the listener. Other Swift songs have clunkier rhymes, or worse production values, but none of them have such a gaping hole at the center. (I do dig the gleeful "Cuz she's dead!" though.)

Swift has recorded plenty of covers in her career, and none are less essential than this 90-second rendition of the Rihanna hit recorded at the peak of the song's popularity. It's pure college-campus coffeehouse.

One of two originals on Swift's early-career Christmas album, "Something More" is a plea to put the Christ back in Christmas. Or as she puts it: "What if happiness came in a cardboard box? / Then I think there is something we all forgot." In the future, Swift would get better at holding onto some empathy when she was casting a critical eye at the silly things people care about; here, the vibe is judgmental in a way that will be familiar to anyone who's ever reread their teenage diary.

A nasty little song that has not aged well. Whether a straightforward imitation of Avril Lavigne's style or an early attempt at "Blank Space"–style self-satirization, the barbs never go beyond bratty. (As in "Look What You Made Me Do," the revenge turns out to be the song itself, which feels hollow.) Best known now for the line about "the things she does on the mattress," which I suspect has been cited in blog posts more times than the song itself has been listened to lately.

Why would you cover this song and make itslower?

Another 90-second cover of a pop song that does not particularly benefit from a stripped-down arrangement.

Before Ariana Grande's "Santa Tell Me," there was only one holiday song about falling in love with Santa, and for some reason, we spent decades making all our young female singers cover it. Swift's version leans out of the awkwardness by leaning into the materialism; she puts most of her vocal emphasis on the nice presents she hopes Santa will bring her. (The relationship seems to be fairly quid pro quo: She'll believe in him if he gives her good gifts — even at this early stage, Swift possessed a savvy business sense.) Otherwise, this is a by-the-numbers holiday cover, complete with sleigh bells in the mix.

Swift's sedate cover of the 2006 Gwen Stefani hit — those "ooh-ooh"s are pitched way down from Akon's falsetto in the original — invests the song with a bittersweet vibe, though like anyone who's ever tried the song at karaoke, she stumbles on the rapid-fire triplets in the first verse.

Swift's cover of the Christmas classic veers significantly away from Franz Xaver Gruber's original melody, and even gives it a Big Taylor Swift Finale. Points for ambition, but sometimes you just want to hear the old standards the way you remember them.

Redis Swift's strongest album, but it suffers a bit from pacing issues: The back half is full of interminable ballads that you've got to slog through to get to the end. Worst of all is this duet with po-faced Ulsterman Gary Lightbody, which feels about ten minutes long.

A bonus track from the debut that plays like a proto–"You Belong With Me." The "show you" / "know you" rhymes mark this as an early effort.

The second straight misfire off theReputation rollout, this one sees Swift try her hand at rapping, with some ill-advised bars about Elizabeth Taylor and a flow she borrowed from Jay-Z. (Try to rap "Younger than my exes" without spilling into "rest in peace, Bob Marley.") Bumped up a spot or two for the chorus, a big Swift hook that sounds just like her best work — in this case, because it bites heavily from "Wildest Dreams."

Swift code-switches like a champ on this charmingly shallow country song, which comes from the Walmart-exclusive EP she released between her first two albums. Her vocals get pretty rough in the chorus, but at least we're left with the delightful line, "Wake up and smell the breakup."

Thanks to some accidental/on-purpose queer-baiting, the run-up to "Me!" was preceded by a weeks-long guessing game about what precisely would be the nature of Swift's big announcement on April 26, 2019. Would she come out? Would she come outand reveal she had once dated Karlie Kloss? Cut to the fateful day, and the news was … a new pop song. After the Sturm und Drang of theReputationera, "Me!" is a return to anodyne sweetness, a mission statement that says, "I'm through making mission statements." When it comes to reclaiming a sense of carefree innocence, the song is probably too successful — the we're-all-just-kids-having-fun vibe aims forcheesy and lands atgrating.

A bonus track only available to people who bought Swift's debut at Best Buy. It's as cute as a study-hall MASH game, and just as easily disposable.

The most bluegrass of Swift's Christmas tunes, this gentle rendition sees Swift's vocals cede center stage to the mandolin and fiddle.

When approached by the filmmakers about contributing a song to theHannah Montana movie, Swift sent in this track, seemingly a holdover from theFearlesssessions. In an admirable bit of dedication, she also showed up to play it in the film's climax. It's kind of a snooze on its own, but compared to the other songs on the soundtrack, even Swift's leftovers shine.

When Swift teamed up with Max Martin andShellback, the marriage of their dark eldritch songcraft nearly broke the pop charts. But when they misfire, the results can be brutal. The lyric here indulges the worst habits of late-period Swift — an eagerness to play the victim, a slight lack of resemblance to anything approaching real life — attached to a schoolyard-chant melody that will never leave your head, even when you may want it to. The remix hollows out the production and replaces Swift's verses with two from Kendrick Lamar; it's less embarrassing than the original, which does not make it more memorable.

After joining Big Machine, McGraw gave Swift an "and" credit here as a professional courtesy. Though her backing vocals are very pleasant, this is 100 percent a Tim McGraw song.

A bonus track that's not gonna make anyone forget Five for Fighting any time soon.

A bit of paint-by-numbers inspiration that apparently did its job of spurring the 2008 U.S. Olympic team to greatness. They won 36 gold medals!

Swift tries out her blaccent alongside Future and Ed Sheeran, on a track that sounds unmistakably like a Rihanna reject. The only silver lining? She's better at rapping here than on "…Ready for It?"

A plight-of-fame ballad from the back half ofRed, with details that never rise above cliché and a melody that borrows from the one Swift cooked up for "Untouchable."

Swift's first foray into musical-theater writing combines a lot of her longtime obsessions (an interest in the power of memories, the pain of social exclusion) with one or two newer ones (the movie Cats, hanging out with British people). Ever the dutiful student, Swift follows all the parameters of the assignment, but ultimately, it feels like watching someone do homework.

Swift's version of "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman," this one feels like it missed its chance to be the theme tune for an ABC Family show.

InFifty Shades Darker, this wan duet soundtracks a scene where Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele go for a sunny boat ride while wearing fabulous sweaters. On brand!

Swift does George Michael proud with this reverent cover of the Wham! classic.

Swift covered this Better Than Ezra deep cut for the Hope for Haiti telethon. With only one take to get it right, she did not let the people of Haiti down.

"There's some unbelievable music that has come out of artists who are from L.A., did you know that?" Swift asks the audience at the beginning of this live track. The crowd, not being idiots, responds with an enthusiastic yes. This cover loses the two most famous parts of Kim Carnes's original — the synths and Carnes's throaty delivery — but the acoustic arrangement and Swift's intimate vocals bring out the best qualities of the tune.

One of two songs Swift contributed to the firstHunger Games soundtrack. With guitars seemingly ripped straight out of 1998 alt-rock radio, this one's most interesting now as a preview of Swift'sRed sound.

The title track of Swift's early-career EP finds the young songwriter getting a lot of mileage out of one single vowel sound: Besides the eyes of the title, we've got I, why, fly, cry, lullaby, even sometimes. A spirited vocal performance in the outro saves the song from feeling like homework.

If you thought you felt weird judging songs by a high-schooler, here's one by an actual sixth-grader. "The Outside" was the second song Swift ever wrote, and though the lyrics edge into self-pity at times, this is still probably the best song written by a 12-year-old since Mozart's "Symphony No. 7 in D Major."

Swift's 2020 documentary tracks her decision to wade into politics for the first time. An admirable stance, certainly, but as the doc's closing number makes clear, creatively it remains an awkward fit. Swift is not a natural polemicist outside the realm of interpersonal relationships, and you can feel the strain in clunky couplets about the "big bad man" and his "big bad clan." Docked at least a dozen spots for the verse about school shootings, the most cringeworthy of Swift's recent output.

This bonus track is a relic of an unfamiliar time when Swift could conceivably be the less-famous person in a relationship.

Never forget that one of the most critically acclaimed albums of 2012 contains a piece of Ethel Kennedy fanfiction. The real story of Bobby and Ethel has more rough spots than you'll find in this resolutely rose-colored track, but that's what happens when you spend a summer hanging in Hyannis Port.

Another glacially paced song from the back half ofRed that somehow pulls off rhyming "magic" with "tragic."

The disparate reactions to Kanye West stage-crashing Swift at the 2009 VMAs speaks to the Rorschachian nature of Swift's star image. Was Swift a teenage girl whose moment was ruined by an older man who couldn't control himself? Or was she a white woman playing the victim to demonize an outspoken black man? Both are correct, which is why everyone's spent so much time arguing about it. Unfortunately, Swift did herself no favors when she premiered "Innocent" at the next year's VMAs, opening with footage of the incident, which couldn't help but feel like she was milking it. (Fairly or not, the comparison to West's own artistic response hardly earns any points in the song's favor.) Stripped of all this context, "Innocent" is fine: Swift turns in a tender vocal performance, though the lyrics could stand to be less patronizing.

How far has Swift come from her Nashville days? So far that this country-tinged murder tale with the Haim sisters can't help feeling more like a musical costume party than a genuine attempt at embodying darkness.

ThisRedbonus track offers a foreshadowing of Swift's interest in sparkly '80s-style production. A singsongy melody accompanies a largely forgettable lyric, except for one hilariously blunt line: "It would be a fine proposition … if I was a stupid girl."

A pleading breakup song with one killer turn of phrase and not much else.

Not, as the title might imply, a slinky cheating ballad. Instead, it's a straightforward love song. The stripped-down production in the verses makes a fun contrast with the bubbly chorus, but otherwise there's not much here.

This early track was inspired by Swift's elderly neighbors. Like "Starlight," it's a young person's vision of lifelong love, skipping straight from proposal to old age.

An ode to a long-lost lover that follows the Swift template a tad too slavishly.

Reputation sags a bit in the middle, never more than on this forgettable '80s-inspired track.

Apparently inspired by a Netflix rom-com, and that tells you everything you need to know.

In retrospect, there could not have been a song more perfectly designed to tick off the authenticity police — didn't Swift know thatrealNew Yorkers stayed up till 3 a.m. doing drugs with Fabrizio Moretti in the bathroom of Mars Bar? I hope you're sitting down when I tell you this, but it's possible the initial response to a Taylor Swift song might have been a little reactionary. When it's not taken as a mission statement, "Welcome to New York" is totally tolerable, a glimmering confetti throwaway with lovely synths.

When she was just a teenager with a development deal, Swift hooked up with veteran Nashville songwriter Liz Rose. The two would collaborate on much of Swift's first two albums. "We wrote and figured out that it really worked. She figured out she could write Taylor Swift songs, and I wouldn't get in the way," Rose said later. "She'd say a line and I'd say, 'What if we say it like this?' It's kind of like editing." This early ballad about a friend with bulimia sees Swift and Rose experimenting with metaphor. Most of them work.

The song where Swift came out as an LGBTQ ally and buried the hatchet with Katy Perry, all at the same time. The slangy Trump jabs (to say nothing of the slight West Indian accents in the chorus) read as a few years behind the times, butat least it was baby steps?

A vulnerable track about long-distance love, with simple sentiments overwhelmed by extravagant production.

An attempt at channeling the naturalistic imagery of the Lake Poets winds up overwrought and overwritten. Though I do smile at the Wordsworth pun.

Miss Havisham cosplay, as Swift sings from the perspective of a woman who's been frozen at the time and place she got dumped. There are shades of an interesting metaphor here — in the documentary Miss Americana, Swift spoke about how celebrities are often mentally stuck at the age they were when they got famous, something she struggled with as she approached 30 — but it's overwhelmed by the song's Gothic elements.

A Colbie Caillat collaboration that's remarkable mostly for being a rare Swift song about a friend breakup. It's like if "Bad Blood" contained actual human emotions.

A woozy R&B track livened up by an undaunted vocal performance and a saxophonist really making the most of their time in the spotlight.

Nathan Chapman was a Nashville session guitarist before he started working with Swift. He produced her early demos, and she fought for him to sit behind the controls on her debut; the two would work together on every Swift album until1989, when his role was largely taken over by Max Martin and Shellback. Here, he brings a sprightly arrangement to Swift'sode to an achingly good-looking man.

Another "post-breakup catharsis" song, seemingly left off Evermore in favor of "Happiness." The lyrics are about a romantic separation, but subtextually there are references to the Big Machine split, particularly when a banjo shows up.

Swift gives some shine to singer-songwriter David Mead with a cover of his 2004 ballad. (Listen to the screams during the chorus and try to guess where this one was recorded.) She treats it with a delicate respect, like she's handling her grandmother's china.

Unfortunately not a Nick Lowe cover, this one comes and goes without making much of an impact, but if you don't love that whispered "1-2-3," I don't know what to tell you.

An unflinching kiss-off song that got a gothic remix for Swift's appearance as an ill-fated teen onCSI. It shouldn't work, but it does.

The best of the covers on the live album sees Swift commit to the Train hit like she'd written it herself. If you had forgotten that this song came out in 2001, she keeps the line about Tae Bo.

A bonus track saved from mediocrity by a gutsy outro that hints that Swift, like any good millennial, was a big fan of "Semi-Charmed Life."

One of the few bad things you can say about Swift's quarantine reinvention is that it exacerbated her penchant for glum duets with dad rockers. After getting the National's Aaron Dessner to produce much of Folklore and Evermore, Swift teamed up with the whole band for this track, which feels so heavy and middle-aged you'd swear it was interviewed for Meet Me in the Bathroom. She blends in all too well: Which one is the featured artist, again?

Like "You Are in Love," this one originated as a Jack Antonoff instrumental track, and the finished version retains his fingerprints. Perhaps too much — you get the sense it might work better as a Bleachers song.

When reaching for insight outside her own experience, Swift occasionally grasps for platitudes. In this ode to soldiers and frontline health-care workers we get both "just a flesh wound" and "someone's daughter." Credit to the singer for expanding outside her usual vocal range, though, deploying an Imogen Heap–style yawp on this one. (And, yeah, sorry, I'm not gonna do the lowercase thing for the Folklore tracks.)

Swift is fond of saying that "songs are what you think of on the drive home — you know, the Great Afterthought." (She says it's a Joni Mitchell quote, but I haven't been able to find it.) Anyway, I think that's why some of the love songs onReputation don't quite land: Swift is writing about a relationship from inside of it, instead of with hindsight. It's a different skill, which could explain why the boyfriend character here is less vividly sketched than some of her other ones.

A dead-serious breakup song that proved the teenage Swift (with help from Rose, who's got a co-writing credit) could produce barbs sharper than most adults: "You come away with a great little story / Of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you." Jesus.

In which Swift tries her hand at Evanescence-style goth-rock. She almost pulls it off, but at this point in Swift's career her voice wasn't quite strong enough to give the unrestrained performance the song calls for.

Began life as a poem before evolving into an atmospheric1989 deep cut. Like an imperfectly poached egg, it's shapeless but still quite appetizing.

Technically a Luna Halo cover (don't worry about it), though Swift discards everything but the bones of the original. Her subsequent renovation job is worthy of HGTV: It's nearly impossible to believe this was ever not a Taylor Swift song.

When it comes to ending an album on a note of catharsis and elemental imagery, I prefer "Clean." And when it comes to employing this specific melody and cadence in a refrain, I prefer Beyoncé's "Halo." But I do love a good spoken-word mission statement!

A deranged bonus track that sees Swift doing the absolute most. This song has everything:Alice in Wonderland metaphors, Rihanna chants, a zigzag bridge that recalls "I Knew You Were Trouble," screams. As she puts it, "It's all fun and games 'til somebody loses their MIND!"

This reverb-drenched track has garnered comparisons to the Sundays and Sixpence None the Richer, and the '90s pastiche is spot-on, though unfortunately a tad sleepier than its forebears. Question for the group: Did she get the title from Sarah McLachlan or Everything But the Girl?

The fake-out here makes me smile: She goes winter-jazzy in the intro, then hustles backstage to throw on some Mariah Carey drag. Swift says she wrote it in a weekend, and it definitely feels like a lark, something she tossed off not because she dreamed of knocking Burl Ives off the charts, but simply because she thought it'd be fun.

A divorce ballad finished only a few days before Evermore's release. Swift has written this type of cathartic breakup song before, and, attractive piano melody aside, not much separates this one.

Swift's first collaboration with Jack Antonoff is appropriately '80s-inspired, and so sugary that a well-placed key change in the chorus is the only thing that staves off a toothache.

The song that gave the entire United Kingdom a chance to clown on Taylor Swift, which is the best gift the nation has received from an American since FDR's Lend-Lease program. It's utterly daffy, but as the product of a similar infatuation, it would be disingenuous of me to pretend I don't see the appeal. Oi, leave it!

A rollicking pop-rock tune that recalls early Kelly Clarkson. As if to reassure nervous country fans, the fiddle goes absolutely nuts.

Another story of a lousy boyfriend, but it's paired with one of Swift and Rose's most winning melodies.

The first sign that Folklore would not be an album you put on in the background while doing something else, this plodding Bon Iver duet broke my patience a few times. Only when I got my headphones and really listened to it did I pick up the jagged edges in the breakup ballad. "I can see you staring, honey / Like he's just your understudy" is an underrated blood-drawer. Now if only we knew the true identity of the elusive co-writer "William Bowery."

A woozy if slightly anonymous love song that comes off as a sexier "Take Me to Church." [A dozen Hozier fans storm out of the room.]

The mirror image of "White Horse," which makes it feel oddly superfluous.

Had Swift lacked the charisma to become a star herself, I like to think she would've become one of those Nashville jobbers who lurks behind the scenes writing radio hits for other artists. This twangy ballad about con artists who fall in love feels like the work of that alternate-reality Swift. Fortunately, the lived-in cynicism of the lyrics belies the tune's anonymous qualities.

The breeziest and least complicated of Swift's guy-standing-on-a-doorstep songs, which contributed to the feeling that1989was something of an emotional regression. You probably shouldn't take it as an instruction manual unless you're Harry Styles.

Beyoncé's "If I Were a Boy" transported to the world of media meta-narratives. Props for succinctness — the chorus sums up so much you barely even need the rest of the song. But it also feels a bit like an op-ed that goes viral for one day.

An easy, breezy intro destined to end up in Spotify's Favorite Coffeehouse playlist.

Written in collaboration with Big and Rich's John Rich, which may explain how stately and mid-tempo this one is. (There's even a martial drumbeat.) Here, she's faced with a choice between a too-perfect guy — he's close to her motherandtalks business with her father — and a tempestuous relationship full of "screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain," and if you don't know which one she prefers I suggest you listen to more Taylor Swift songs. Swift often plays guessing games about which parts of her songs are autobiographical, but this one is explicitly a fantasy.

"Closure" features one of the bigger production swings of Swift's quarantine era, an industrial drum track that sparks up a song that otherwise remains subdued. (I've seen the percussion compared to Nine Inch Nails, but the Postal Service feels more her wavelength.) It works better than Swift's other capital-C choice: her decision to sing the chorus in a British accent. You wot?

Much of the pleasure here comes via a sample from a Toronto music academy, a steel-drum-and-chorus beat that sounds like nothing else in Swift's discography. The schoolyard vibe fits the playground-romance lyrics; I assume any resemblance to the plot of Carol is accidental.

This one dates back to Swift's high-school days, and was destined for obscurity until fans fell in love with the live version. After what seems like a lot of tinkering, it finally got a proper studio release on Swift's third album. It's like "True Love Waits," but with more kissing in the rain.

It's not this song's fault that the extended version ofSpeak Now has songs called both "Mine" and "Ours," and while "Ours" is good … well, it's no "Mine." Still, even if this song never rises above cuteness, it isincredibly cute. I think Dad'll get over the tattoos.

Do you need subtext? This unguarded track surfs along with its heart on its sleeve, plus a languid saxophone and a few great turns of phrase. ("I got wasted like all my potential.") The climax sneaks up on you like a moment of clarity.

Swift broke out her southern accent one last time for this attempt at homespun folk, which is marred by production that's so clean it's practically antiseptic. In an alternate universe where a less-ambitious Swift took a 9-to-5 job writing ad jingles, this one soundtracked a TV spot for the new AT&T family plan.

After years of being dinged for staying apolitical in her art, Swift here takes her first step into the arena, reframing the most recent presidential election through the high-school environment that provided so much of her early inspiration. It's an ambitious conceit that I don't think works 100 percent, but I appreciate how well the song evokes those pit-in-your-stomach days of late 2016. Knocked a few spots for featuring the cheerleader chorus on Lover that finally broke me.

What initially seems like another ode to Alwyn reveals itself, Owl Creek Bridge–style, to actually be the fantasy of an unlucky-in-love narrator. The throbbing chorus doesn't really do it for me, but I appreciate the swooning imagery in the verses, as visions of dinner parties and vacations fade away into "the gray of my day-old tea." Bumped up a spot for the reminder that Swift is an Iggles fan.

Swift's parents moved the family to Tennessee so she could follow her musical dreams, and she paid them back with this tender tribute. Mom gets the verses while Dad is relegated to the middle eight — even in song, the Mother's Day–Father's Day disparity holds up.

Had Swift never moved to Nashville, this pop-punk confection sounds like something she might have released in the late aughts. I see a bright future for it as the hipster wedding's "Shake It Off" — like the titular jewelry, this song is pleasantly handmade.

Those coos! That falsetto! That quiver! Don't call her kid. Don't call her baby. Just call her Swift-jan Stevens, maybe.

Like "22," an attempt at writing a big generational anthem. That it was left off the album proper suggests Swift didn't think it quite got there, though it did its job of extending the singles cycle of1989a few more months. Despite what anyone says about "Welcome to New York," the line here about waiting for "trains that just aren't coming" indicates its writer has had at least one authentic New York experience.

"We good to go?" For many American listeners, this was the first introduction to a redheaded crooner named Ed Sheeran. It's a sweet duet and Sheeran's got a roughness that goes well with Swift's cleaner vocals, but the harmonies are a bit bland.

Swift returns to the isolated woodland compound where she left Bon Iver after "Exile" and whaddya know, he still works! This one's less turgid than its predecessor, and if the duo's vocal parts feel uncomfortably stitched together at times, at least they come together for a rousing back-and-forth climax.

Just like the melody to "Yesterday" and the "Satisfaction" riff, the high-pitched "Stay!" here came to its writer in a dream. Inspiration works in mysterious ways.

How much of a roll was Swift on during theFearlessera? This song didn't make the album, and sat in the vault for a year until Swift signed on for a small role in a Garry Marshall rom-comand offered it up for the soundtrack. Despite the extravagant title, the date described here is charmingly low-key: The dude wears a T-shirt, and his grand gestures are showing up on time and being nice.

A good-bye waltz with an understated arrangement that suits the starkness of the lyrics.

I really dug this one the first time I heard it — so much so that, at the moment Swift contemplates forgiving a hater then bursts into an incredulous guffaw, I laughed out loud, too. What can I say, it was late and I was tired. I suspect Swift liked it, too, as she made it the epic finale to her Reputation live show. History has not vindicated either of us, but the positive memories remain.

In which an artist known for worldly concerns wades into the realm of the spiritual. The song's addressed to Swift's late grandmother Marjorie Finlay, an opera singer who passed away in 2003. But that doesn't mean she's gone, Swift says: "What died didn't stay dead / You're alive in my head." In fact, she can hear her grandma singing to her right now, at which point we hear the real Marjorie crooning in the background — an evocation both haunting and strangely comforting.

The best of Swift's songs idealizing someone else's love story (see "Starlight" and "Mary's Song"), this bonus track sketches Jack Antonoff and Lena Dunham's relationship in flashes of moments. The production and vocals are appropriately restrained — sometimes, simplicity works.

The notion of Folklore as Swift's "goth album" didn't extend much further than the promo imagery and this side-two spooker, a haunting evocation of female rage. It gives us the unrepentant knife-twisting that Reputation only gestured at, and it gets 13 percent more fun if you pretend she's saying, "Mouth-fuck you forever."

Many of theReputationsingles aim at sexy; this airy slow jam about losing yourself in love after a scandal is the only one that gets there, though the saltiness in the verses ("all the liars are calling me one") occasionally betrays the sentiment.

The deluxe edition ofSpeak Now features both U.S. and international versions of some of the singles, which gives you a sense of how fine-tuned Swift's operation was by this point. My ears can't quite hear the difference between the two versions of this exuberant breakup jam, but I suspect the U.S. mix contains some sort of ultrasonic frequencies designed to … sorry, I've already said too much.

The kind of plaintive breakup song Swift could write in her sleep at this point in her career, with standout guitar work and impressive vulnerability in both lyrics and performance.

Turns out, being happily coupled up did not diminish Swift's ability to write heartbreaking songs about dying relationships; in this case, a study of a woman coming to grips with the fact that her partner has settled for her. Everything is off-balance, including the time signature, which is in 5/4. The cold, oppressive weight doesn't lift until the bridge, when Swift leaps into her upper register to dream about getting the courage to break it off: "Believe me, I could do it." But then the daydream ends, and we snap back to where we started. It's clear she doesn't quite believe it herself.

An epic account of being stood up that makes a terrible birthday party seem like something approximating the Fall of Troy. If you're the type of person who stays up at night remembering every inconsiderate thing you've ever done, the level of excruciating detail here is like a needle to the heart.

The normal rules of Taylor Swift album sequencing say this lo-fi love song should be the last track on Folklore, but I guess that's 2020 for you. More clearly autobiographical than much of the album, Swift apologizes to her lover for the stress that comes with dating one of the world's most famous women. There's a world where that comes off as an insufferable flex, but her unassuming authenticity keeps it far away from humblebrag territory.

Ostensibly written about Swift's experiences touring with her band, but universal enough that it's been taken as a graduation song by pretty much everyone else. Turns out, adolescent self-mythologizing is the same no matter where you are — no surprise that Swift could pull it off despite leaving school after sophomore year.

Co-written with Imogen Heap, who contributes backup vocals. This is1989's big end-of-album-catharsis song, and the water imagery of the lyrics goes well with the drip-drip-drip production. I'd be curious to hear a version where Heap sings lead; the minimalist sound might be better suited for her voice, which has a little more texture.

Swift's songs where she's romanticizing childhood come off better than the ones where she's romanticizing old age. (Possibly because she's been a child before.) This one is so well-observed and wistful about the idea of children aging that you'd swear she was secretly a 39-year-old mom.

Probably too noncommittal to be a first single, but man, imagine how different the buzz for Lover would have been had this winning song been our introduction to the era. As it is, it's a fitting leadoff track for the album proper, as Swift puts the Reputation drama behind her with a sprightly ode to the joy of indifference. In a fun twist, the utter lack of negative emotion here makes this one of Swift's coldest kiss-off songs. Elie Wiesel was right.

So intimate it's almost uncomfortable: Just Swift, a piano, and quiet strings, bathed in religious imagery and nods to private tragedies we'll probably never know about.

An effervescent banjo-driven love song. I get a silly kick out of the gag in the chorus, when Swift's voice leaps to the top of her register every time she says "jump."

Written in a rush of emotion near the end of recording for the debut, what this early single lacks in nuance it makes up for in backbone. I appreciate the way the end of each verse holds out hope for the cheating ex — "givenooonnne chaaance, it was a moment ofweeaaknesssss" — before the chorus slams the door in the dumb lunk's face.

Do you ever look back on a crisis that used to consume your entire life and find yourself shocked by how small it seems in retrospect? That's where Swift's at in this breezy electro-pop track, which sums up years of public drama with a terse, "Long story short, it was a bad time." Reputation found Swift playing at being over it while clearly not being over it; here, the sentiment finally feels genuine. I think I speak for everyone, though, when I say we'd be fine with this being her final word on the subject.

If I didn't know better, I'd say this one was a leftover from the Reputation sessions. (It's not; co-writers Louis Bell and Frank Dukes didn't work on that album.) Still, the airy vibe and heavy drums recall Swift's 2017 output with the fear and paranoia swapped out for honesty and accountability.

At the time, this one was billed as a big step for Swift: the first song whereshe'sthe bad guy! Now that the novelty has worn off "Back to December" doesn't feel so groundbreaking, but it does show her evolving sensitivity. The key to a good apology has always been sincerity, and whatever faults Swift may have, a lack of sincerity has never been one of them.

Swift brought out the Dixie Chicks for this soft acoustic ballad inspired by her mother's cancer recurrence. Despite the star-studded lineup, the song is simple, sincere, and affecting, and Swift's vocals infuse the heartbreaking details with just the right amount of childish vulnerability: "You'll get better soon / 'cause you have to."

In the misbegotten rollout forReputation, "Gorgeous" righted the ship by not being completely terrible. Max Martin and Shellback pack the track with all sorts of amusing audio doodads, but the melody is a little too horizontal to stick, and the lyrics have a touch of first draft about them. (You'd be forgiven for preferring the actual first draft, which is slightly more open and real.)

The folkiest track on Folklore serves up a Southern Gothic vision of childhood, where wild innocence brushes past darkness that's only apparent in retrospect. Once again we're in the realm of memory, as the narrator reminisces about a friend from a troubled home, someone she once cared about but whose face has faded from her mind — then muses on how they might remember her. Swift herself is unrecognizable in the chorus, debuting a McLachlan-esque croon, almost as if the song's being sung by two different people.

It's too bad Rihanna already has an album calledUnapologetic, because that would have been a perfect title forReputation, or maybe just this jubilant "Blank Space" sequel, which embodies Swift's 2017's ethos of setting her goody-two-shoes image aflame. Is that a raga chant? Are those fuckinggunshots? Docked a spot or ten for "They're burning all the witches even if you aren't one," which doth protest too much, but bumped up just as much for Swift's first on-the-record "shit."

Evermore kicks off with a visit to the world's most melancholy coffeehouse. "Willow" is a love song, but it's so prickly and suspicious it doesn't always sound like one. There's a striking sharpness to this track, both in the fingerpicked guitar line and in Swift's plea for her man to "take my hand / wreck my plans." Docked five spots for the "'90s trend" line, which feels like something she threw in because she wanted to put it on a T-shirt.

This chugging rocker nails the feeling of reconnecting with an ex and romanticizing the times you shared, and it livens up the back half ofRed a bit. Probably ranked too high, but this is my list and I'll do what I want.

Originally the title track for Swift's third album until her label told her, more or less, to cut it with the fairy-tale stuff. It's a glittery ode to a meet-cute that probably didn't need to be six minutes long, but at least the extended length gives us extra time to soak up the heavenly coda, with its multi-tracked "Please don't be in love in with someone else."

Swift's separation from her old label Big Machine gets a dramatic breakup anthem worthy of the years they spent together. She concocts a ghostly fantasy about watching your enemies wail at your funeral; the operatic grandeur of Antonoff's production is only too apropos. Surely it's a coincidence that the intro sounds a bit like a song from one of Swift's other old enemies?

No attempts of universality here — this trip-hop song about trying to find a place to make out when you're a massive celebrity is only relatable to a couple dozen people. No matter. As a slice of gothic pop-star paranoia, it gives a much-needed bit of edge to1989. Bumped up a couple of spots for the line about vultures, which I can only assume is a shout-out.

Swift has rarely been so tactile as on this intimate ballad, seemingly constructed entirely out of sighs.

The rest of the band plays it so straight that it might take a second listen to realize that this song is, frankly, bonkers. First, Swift sneaks into a wedding to find a bridezilla, "wearing a gown shaped like a pastry," snarling at the bridesmaids. Then it turns out she's been uninvited — oops — so she decides to hide in the curtains. Finally, at a pivotal moment she stands up in front of everyone and protests the impending union. Luckily the guy is cool with it, so we get a happy ending! All this nonsense undercuts the admittedly charming chorus, but it's hard not to smile at the unabashed silliness.

Another collaboration with Martin and Shellback, another absurdly catchy single. Still, there's enough personality in the machine for this to still feel like a Taylor song, for better ("breakfast at midnight" being the epitome of adult freedom) and for worse (the obsession with "cool kids"). Mostly for better.

A song about a young woman who rejects a proposal from her nice, rich boyfriend that plays like a story J.D. Salinger never wrote. Swift covered similar territory in "Back to December," but the intervening decade has seen her expand her facility for characterization: This time around, we get glimpses not just of the self-conscious and self-deprecating narrator, but also the boyfriend and his family, too.

An amusing curio about Rebekah Harkness, the eccentric widow of an oil scion, who built the Rhode Island mansion Swift would purchase (all cash) in 2013. She has fun constructing parallels between herself and Harkness — their neighbors hated them! — and a last-chorus switcheroo makes the comparison explicit. It's a crucial dose of levity on Folklore, and a chance for Swift to show off her storytelling chops, though I can't help wishing for a less-peppy production that brought some of that "Mad Woman" energy.

Swift's second No. 1 was greeted with widespread critical sighs: After the heights ofRed, why was she serving up cotton-candy fluff about dancing your way past the haters? (Never mind thatRedhad its own sugary singles.) Now that we've all gotten some distance, the purpose of "Shake It Off" is clear: This is a wedding song, empty-headed fun designed to get both Grandma and Lil Jayden on the dance floor. Docked ten or so spots for the spoken-word bridge and cheerleader breakdown, which might be the worst 24 seconds of the entire album.

The clear standout of Swift's Christmas album, with an endearingly winsome riff and lyrics that paint a poignant picture of yuletide heartbreak. If you've ever been alone on Christmas, this is your song.

You'd never call Swift a genre deconstructionist, but her best work digs deeper into romantic tropes than she gets credit for. In just her second album, she and Rose gave us this clear-eyed look at the emptiness of symbolic gestures, allegedly finished in a mere 45 minutes. Almost left off the album, but saved thanks to Shonda Rhimes.

Occasionally I hear from readers who don't like that this list includes all the covers and Christmas songs, which get in the way of the tracks people really want to hear about. It's a fair complaint, but think of it this way: If we didn't rank all of Swift's mediocre holiday songs, the good ones would feel far less special. The best is this blue-Christmas anthem, which is all about the somber ritual of hooking up with your hometown ex over the holidays. Per Swift, the narrator is the movie star from "Dorothea," which adds a frisson of class tension to the push-pull of their romance.

An appropriately slinky track that gives us an unexpected payoff for years of lyrics about party dresses: "I only bought this dress so you could take it off," she says in the chorus. The way the whole song starts and stops is an obvious trick, but I like it.

An evocative portrait of high-school heartbreak, equal parts mundane — no adult songwriter would have named the crush "Drew" — and melodramatic. It's also the best example of Swift and Rose's early songwriting cheat code, when they switch the words of the chorus around at the end of the song. "It just makes the listener feel like the writer and the artist care about the song," Rose toldBillboard. "That they're like, "Okay, you've heard it, but wait a minute — 'cause I want you know that this really affected me, I'm gonna dig the knife in just a little bit deeper.'" (In a fitting twist, "Teardrops" ended up inspiring a moment that could have come straight out of a Taylor Swift song, when the real Drew showed up outside her house one night. "I hadn't talked to him in two-and-a-half years," she told the WashingtonPost. "He was like: 'Hey, how's it going?' And I'm like: 'Wow, you're late? Good to see you?'")

Like "Betty" on Folklore, an effortless channeling of Swift's old sound on a fictional tale of teenage romance. According to the author, "Dorothea" canonically takes place in the same universe as Folklore's love-triangle trilogy, though the melodrama has been turned down a few notches. It's a wistful recollection of the narrator's high-school relationship with the title character, who skipped town, became a big star, and never looked back. The lyrics are folksy and self-effacing, as Swift dreams of a reunion while constantly reminding herself that it could never happen. But she can't quite stop herself from holding out hope: "If you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know / You know that you'll always know me." The optimism might not be too misguided: According to "'Tis the Damn Season," these two haven't seen the last of each other.

There should be more songs about late summer, those lazy weeks when anticipation gives way to acceptance: Well, I guess that was it. Swift distills that feeling down to four hazy minutes for the middle part of Folklore's teenage-love-triangle trilogy, as an unnamed sidepiece makes peace with the end of her summer fling, recalling how the month dwindled away "like a bottle of wine / 'cause you were never mine." Around her Antonoff's tastefully jazzy production dims and swells, the memories fading, then rushing back all at once. Even in fiction, Swift's ability to capture the wistful ache of nostalgia remains unmatched.

Another very Jack Antonoff–y track, but I'm not mad at it. We start with a vocoder she must have stolen from Imogen Heap and end with one of Swift's most rocking outros, and in between we even get a rare key change and a "soary" that suggests the presence of at least one Canadian in the recording booth.

The guiding principle on much ofRed seems to have been to throw absolutely every idea a person could think of into a song and see what worked. Here, we go from Kelly Clarkson verses to a roller-coaster chorus to a dubstep breakdown that dates the song as surely as radiocarbon — then back again. It shouldn't hang together, but the adventurous vocals and vivid lyrics keep the track from going off the rails.

Swift's sequencing genius strikes again: After the emotional roller coaster ofRed, this gentle ballad plays like a cleansing shower. (It works so well she'd repeat the trick on1989, Reputation, and Lover.) Of all Swift's date songs, this one feels the most true to life; anyone who's ever been on a good first date can recall the precise moment their nervousness melted into relief.

Swift's collaboration with folk duo the Civil Wars is her best soundtrack cut by a country mile. Freed from the constraints of her usual mode, her vocals paint in corners you didn't think she could reach, especially when she tries out a high-pitched vibrato that blends beautifully with Joy Williams and John Paul White's hushed harmonies. Swift has worked in a variety of emotional palettes in her career, but this is the only time she's ever beenspooky.

Swift's breakup songs rarely get more acidic than they do in this country hit. By the time she's twanging a line about dating all her ex's friends, things have gotten downright rowdy. The original lyrics — "Go and tell your friends that I'm obsessive and crazy / That's fine, I'll tell mine you're gay" — show how far standards for acceptable speech in nice young people have shifted in the past decade.

A few songs on Evermore feel like they grew out of the same bones as Folklore tracks, and from the fingerpicking to the melody, "Ivy" shares a lot of DNA with "Invisible String." Or maybe that's just a baseless theory I've invented to explain why I like it so much! While that earlier song was an exploration of romantic destiny, "Ivy" sees Swift play a woman who's fallen head over heels for a man who's not her husband. A tragic setup, but there's an ecstasy in her voice as she sings of, "My house of stone, your ivy grows / And now I'm covered in you." It's sexy in a uniquely adult way.

The Bananarama song comes from 1993, but this feels more 1989, with a big, sexy hook that ranks among Swift's strongest. (Compliments to Jack Antonoff, who co-produced, and St. Vincent, who co-wrote.) We're back in the realm of late-night hookups with dreamy bad boys, and there's a yearning here I really enjoy — not just the ache of falling for someone you weren't supposed to but also the nostalgia of someone in a settled relationship reminiscing about those uncertain early days. Try singing that "grinning like a devil" line in the bridge without making a gnarly face, I dare you.

If you by chance ever happen to meet Taylor Swift, there is one thing you should know: Do not, under any circumstances, call her "calculating." "Am I shooting from the hip?" she once askedGQ when confronted with the word. "Would any of this have happened if I was? … You can be accidentally successful for three or four years. Accidents happen. But careers take hard work." However, since the title of her first single apparently came from label head Scott Borchetta — "I told Taylor, 'They won't immediately remember your name, they'll say who's this young girl with this song about Tim McGraw?'" — I think we're allowed to break out the c-word: Calling it "Tim McGraw" was the first genius calculation in a career that would turn out to be full of them. Still, there would have been no getting anywhere with it if the song weren't good. Even as a teenager, Swift was savvy enough to know that country fans love nothing more than listening to songs about listening to country music. And the very first line marks her as more of a skeptic than you might expect: "He said the way my blue eyes shined put those Georgia pines to shame that night / I said, 'That's a lie.'"

The same way you may have found yourself looking back at all your old Facebook albums in quarantine, Taylor Swift spent lockdown writing a country-tinged romantic fantasy about a high schooler showing up at their ex's door to apologize, complete with a big key change at the end. She even broke out the Southern accent again! This is the sound of Swift's teen years, revived for the third part of her teenage-love-triangle trilogy. (Chronologically, it takes place earliest.) It's a musical time capsule of being young, dumb, and full of feelings; I can't wait to sing it around a bonfire.

Which brings us to the first installment of the teenage-love-triangle trilogy (though it seems to come last in the timeline). The contrast with "Betty" is instructive. The narrator here has grown up, and so has the song around her; the other track's bright primary colors replaced by a more bittersweet emotional palette. (Even if I hadn't seen the video, I'd say that Aaron Dessner's soundscapes feel almost sepia-toned.) She's thinking back on a relationship where she got hurt, finding that the pain from the betrayal has shrunk into something far away, while the pleasures remain vivid and present. Along the way there are hints that the grand gesture at the end of "Betty" didn't quite go as planned — a much-needed warning during ex-texting season.

The title track from Swift's second album has more of her favorite images — in one memorable twofer, she's dancing in the rainwhilewearing her best dress — but she invests them with so much emotion that you'd swear she was using them for the first time. The exuberance of the lyrics is matched in the way she tumbles from line to line into the chorus.

"I've never named names," Swift once toldGQ. "The fact that I've never confirmed who those songs are about makes me feel like there is still one card I'm holding." That may technically be true, but she came pretty dang close with this seven-minute epic. (John Mayer said he felt "humiliated" by the song, after which Swift toldGlamourit was "presumptuous" of him to think that the song his ex wrote, that used his first name, was about him.) She sings the hell out of it, but when it comes to songs where Swift systematically outlines all the ways in which an older male celebrity is an inadequate partner, I think I prefer "All Too Well," which is less wallow-y. I've seen it speculated that the guitar noodling on this track is meant as a parody of Mayer's own late-'00s output, which if true would be deliciously petty.

Re-eh-eh-ed,re-eh-eh-ed.Red's title track sees the album's maximalist style in full effect — who in their right mind would put Auto-Tune and banjos on the same track? But somehow, the overstuffing works here; it's the audio equivalent of the lyrics' synesthesia.

Fans joke that Swift is the only person in the world who finds Joe Alwyn compelling, but against all odds this dreamy deep cut imbues the relationship with a sense of grandeur. She's looking back at their past, hoping her memories won't be poisoned by whatever comes next. It's as powerfully observed as all her best work — love makes nostalgists of us all.

With multitracked, breathy vocals, this is Swift at her most tentative. Would any other album's Taylor be asking, "Is it cool that I said all that?" On an album where Swift attempted to play the villain without much success, the vulnerability plays better: This is the most genuinely sexy song onReputation.

This blistering breakup song was the one that solidified Swift's image as the pop star you dump at your own peril. (The boys in the debut were just Nashville randos; this one was abouta Jonas Brother,back when that really meant something.) Obligatory fiddles aside, the original version is just about a perfect piece of pop-rock — dig how the guitars drop out at a pivotal moment — though the extended edition ofFearlessalso contains a piano version if you feel like having your guts ripped out. I have no idea what the lines about "rain in your bedroom" mean, but like the best lyrics, they make sense on an instinctual level. And to top it off, the track marks the introduction of Swift's colloquial style — "Where is thisGOoO-ING?" — that would serve her so well in the years to come.

Who knew so many words rhymed withStephen? They all come so naturally here. Swift is in the zone as a writer, performer, and producer on this winning deep cut, which gives us some wonderful sideways rhymes ("look like an angel" goes with "kiss you in the rain, so"), a trusty Hammond organ in the background, and a bunch of endearing little ad-libs, to say nothing of the kicker: "All those other girls, well they're beautiful / But would they write a song for you?" For once, the mid-song laugh is entirely appropriate.

A collage of lines pulled from the blog of Maya Thompson, whose 3-year-old son had died of cancer, this charity single sees Swift turn herself into an effective conduit for the other woman's grief. (Thompson gets a co-writing credit.) One of the most empathetic songs in Swift's catalogue, as well as her most reliable tearjerker.

It takes some chutzpah to put a song complaining about mean people on the same album as "Better Than Revenge," but lack of chutzpah has never been Swift's problem. Get past that and you'll find one of Swift's most naturally appealing melodies and the joyful catharsis that comes with giving a bully what's coming to them. (Some listeners have interpreted the "big enough so you can't hit me" line to mean the song's about abuse, but I've always read it as a figure of speech, as in "hit piece.")

Once Swift got all the kiddie shit out of her system, she gave us this cathartic self-examination, the first gem of the inescapable Lover rollout. Jack Antonoff's throbbing production now sounds as nostalgic for 2014 as it does for 1989, but it never overwhelms the intriguing vulnerability of Swift's lyrics. The line "I never grew up, it's getting so old" is possibly the most self-aware lyric in the artist's discography.

The much-ballyhooed '80s sound on1989 often turned out to just mean Swift was using more synths than usual, but she nailed the vibe on this slinky single, which could have soundtracked a particularly romantic episode ofMiami Vice. Despite the dress-up games in the chorus, this is one of the rare Swift love songs to feel truly adult: Both she and the guy have been down this road too many times to bullshit anymore. That road imagery is haunted by the prospect of death lurking around every hairpin turn — what's sex without a little danger?

Folklore finds Swift replaying memories over and over, trying to mine them for meaning that might not have been apparent in the moment. She does that most literally in the album's best track, flashing back to her and her partner's parallel timelines as she wonders if fate was drawing them together all along. Probably not, but wouldn't it be "just so pretty to think"? Still, she looks back on her own evolution as something valuable and tender nonetheless. "Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart," she sings. "Now I send their babies presents." That's growth.

She's gone alt-country. The title track from Swift's seventh album turned out to be a self-consciously muted ballad about slowing down and settling down into an adult relationship. With a vibe like that, who better to evoke than the patron saint of weary 30-somethings, Jenny Lewis? The first sign that "New Year's Day" would not be a one-off — the love songs of the Alwyn era would be realer, less storybook, but no less affecting. Even the dramatic double-time closer has grown on me, like a lover's foibles.

Like Max Martin, Jack Antonoff's influence as a collaborator has not been wholly positive: His penchant for big anthemic sounds can drown out the subtlety of Swift, and he's been at the controls for some of her biggest misfires. But boy, does his Antonoff thing work here, bringing a whole forest of drums to support Swift's rapid-fire string of memories. The song's bridge was apparently inspired by a snowmobile accident Swift was in with Harry Styles, an incident that never made the tabloids despite what seemed like round-the-clock coverage of the couple — a subtler reminder of the limits of media narratives than anything on Reputation.

Like a prestige cable drama, Swift likes to use her final track as a kind of quiet summing-up of all that's come before. Here, she saves the album's most convincing love song for last, an appreciation for the everyday pleasures of a healthy relationship: "I want your midnights / but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day." Remember when we worried monogamy would kill her mojo?

Swift is in full control of her instrument here, with so much yearning in her voice that you'd swear every breath was about to be her last. For a singer often slammed as being sexless, those sighs in the chorus tell us everything we need to know. Bumped up a few spots for the invigorating double-time bridge, the best on1989.

Full disclosure: This was the first Taylor Swift song I ever heard. (It was a freezing day in early 2009; I was buying shoes; basically, the situation was the total antithesis of anything that's ever happened in a Taylor Swift song.) I didn't like it at first.Who's this girl singing about Romeo and Juliet, and doesn't she know they die in the end? What I would soon learn was: not here they don't, as Swift employs a key change so powerful it literally rewrites Shakespeare. The jury's still out on the question of if she's ever read the play, but shedefinitelyhasn't readThe Scarlet Letter.

Swift's songs are always full of interesting little nuggets you don't notice until your 11th listen or so — a lyrical twist, maybe, or an unconventional drum fill — but most of them are fundamentally meant to be heard on the radio, which demands a certain type of songwriting and a certain type of sound. What a surprise it was, then, thatRedopened with this big, expansive rock track, which sent dozens ofJoshua Tree fans searching for their nearest pair of headphones. Another surprise: that she never tried to sound like this again. Having proven she could nail it on her first try, Swift set out to find other giants to slay.

Flash back to 2012. Carly Rae Jepsen had a No. 1 hit. Freaking Gotye had a No. 1 hit. LMFAO hadtwo. And yet Swift, arguably the biggest pop star in the country, had never had a No. 1 hit. ("You Belong With Me" and "Today Was a Fairytale" had both peaked at No. 2.) And so she called up Swedish pop cyborg Max Martin, the man who makes hits as regularly as you and I forget our car keys. The first song they wrote together is still their masterpiece, though it feels wrong to say that "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" waswritten; better to say that it wasdesigned, as Swift and Martin turn almost every single second of the song's 3:12 run time into a hook. Think of that guitar loop, the snippets of millennial-speak in the margins ("cuz like"), those spiraling "ooh"s, the spoken-word bit that could have been overheard at any brunch in America, and towering over it all, that gigantic "we." Like all hyper-efficient products it feels like a visitor from some cold algorithmic future: The sense of joy here is so perfectly engineered that you get the sense it did not come entirely from human hands.

Swift wrote this one for her ninth-grade talent show, and I have a lovely time imagining all the other competitors getting the disappointment of their lives once they realized what they were up against. ("But nice job with that Green Day cover, Andy.") Even at this early stage Swift had a knack for matching her biggest melodic hooks to sentences that would make them soar; that "'cause it's late and your mama don't know" is absolutely ecstatic. She's said she heard the entire production in her head while writing, and on the record Nathan Chapman brings out all the tricks in the Nashville handbook, and even some that aren't, like the compressed hip-hop drums in the final refrain.

As catchy as her Max Martin songs, but with more of a soul, "Mine" wins a narrow victory over "Our Song" on account of having a better bridge. This one's another fantasy, and you can kind of tell, but who cares — Paul McCartney didn't really fall in love with a meter maid, either. Swift packs in so many captivating turns of phrase here, and she does it so naturally: It's hard to believe no one else got to "you are the best thing that's ever been mine" before her, and the line about "a careless man's careful daughter" is so perfect that you instantly know everything about the guy. Let's give a special shout-out to Nathan Chapman again: His backup vocals are the secret weapon ofSpeak Now, and they're at their very best here.

You know how almost every other song that's even a little bit like "Blank Space" ranks very low on this list? Yeah, that's how hard a trick Swift pulls off on this1989 single, which manages to satirize her man-eater image while also demonstrating exactly what makes that image so appealing. The gag takes a perfectly tuned barometer for tone: "Look What You Made Me Do" collapsed under the weight of its own self-obsession; "Better Than Revenge" didn't quite get the right amount of humor in. But Swift's long history of code-switching works wonders for her here, as she gives each line just the right spin — enough irony for us to get the jokes, enough sincerity that we'll all sing along anyway. Martin and Shellback bring their usual bells and whistles, but they leave enough empty space in the mix for the words to ring out. Who wouldn't want to write their name?

For many young people, the real experience of romance is the thinking about it, not the actual doing it. (For an increasing number, the thinking about it is all they're doing.) Swift gets this instinctively, and never more than on this early ballad about her freshman year of high school, which plays like a gentle memoir. Listen to how the emotional high point of the second verse is not something that happens, but her reaction to it: "He's got a car and you feel likeflyyying." She knows that the real thing is awkward, occasionally unpleasant, and almost guaranteed to disappoint you — the first sentence she wrote for this one was "Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind / We both cried," a line that became exhibit B in the case of Taylor Swift v. Feminism — and she knows how fantasies can sustain you when nothing else will. "In your life you'll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team / but I didn't know it at 15," she sings, even though she's only 18 herself. That there are plenty of people who spent their teenage years making out, smoking cigarettes, and reading Anaïs Nin doesn't negate the fact that, for a lot of squares, even the prospect of holding someone else's hand could get us through an entire semester. Virgins need love songs, too.

It's no wonder that music writers love this one: This is Swift at her most literary, with a string of impeccably observed details that could have come out of aNew Yorker short story. "All Too Well" was the first song Swift wrote forRed. She hadn't worked with Liz Rose sinceFearless, but she called up her old collaborator to help her make sense of her jumble of memories from a relationship recently exploded. "She had a story and she wanted to say something specific. She had alot of information," Rose toldRolling Stone later. "I just let her go." The original version featured something like eight verses; together the two women edited it down to a more manageable three, while still retaining its propulsive momentum. The finished song is a kaleidoscopic swirl of images — baby pictures at his parents' house, "nights where you made me your own," a scarf left in a drawer — always coming back to the insistence that these things happened, and they mattered: "I was there, I remember it all too well." The words are so strong that the band mostly plays support; they don't need anything flashier than a 4/4 thump and a big crescendo for each chorus. There are few moments onRed better than the one where Swift jumps into her upper register to deliver the knockout blow in the bridge. Just like the scarf, you can't get rid of this song.

Swift was hanging out with a male friend one day when he took a call from his girlfriend. "He was completely on the defensive saying, 'No, baby … I had to get off the phone really quickly … I tried to call you right back … Of course I love you. More than anything! Baby, I'm so sorry,'" she recalled. "She was just yelling at him! I felt so bad for him at that moment." Out of that feeling, a classic was born. Swift had written great songs drawn from life before, but here she gave us a story of high school at its most archetypal: A sensitive underdog facing off with some prissy hot chick, in a battle to see which one of themreallygot a cute boy's jokes. (Swift would play both women in the video; she had enough self-awareness to know that most outcasts are not tall, willowy blonde girls.) Rose says the song "just flowed out of" Swift, and you can feel that rush of inspiration in the way the lines bleed into each other, but there's some subtle songcraft at work, too: Besides the lyrical switcheroos about who wears what, we also only get half the chorus the first go-round, just to save one more wallop for later. The line about short skirts and T-shirts will likely be mentioned in Swift's obituary one day, and I think it's key to the song's, and by extension Swift's, appeal: In my high school, even the most popular kids wore T-shirts.

All 179 Taylor Swift Songs, Ranked