Hip-Hop Lives Here
Hip-Hop Lives Here
On June 7, 2023, the sky above New York turned an eerie orange. People across the city looked up to see the air thick with smoke, carrying the sharp scent of wildfires that had drifted down from Canada. It was a startling moment, more alarming than a strangely warm November day but less directly dangerous than an active blaze in your own neighborhood. For many living on the East Coast, it was simply surreal. The air felt heavy and golden, and yet, everyday routines continued without pause.
“Something in the Air,” the second single from the Antlers’ new record Blight, depicts this environmental event, or at least one that mirrors it closely. If the Antlers have been unfairly labeled a “sad” band, this song won’t do much to change that. Peter Silberman, the group’s longtime creative force, sings with a trembling voice, “Oh, keep your window closed today.” Rather than fully grasping the strange intensity of the moment or facing its unsettling implications, the song leans into ordinary habits: “Oh, be sure to charge your phone today/Oh, maybe work from home today,” he sings softly.
Since their rise to prominence, the Antlers have specialized in songs that linger in deep emotional pain. Titles like “Shiva,” “Wake,” and “Putting the Dog to Sleep” offer a glimpse of the grief they’ve often explored. Back in 2009, their breakthrough album Hospice used a cancer ward as a backdrop for songs about a crumbling relationship, becoming a defining blog-era classic. Silberman now widens that lens, shifting from personal sorrow to collective mourning—what’s often referred to as “eco-grief.” Blight, the band’s seventh album, is presented as a song cycle about the climate crisis. Its nine tracks dwell on pollution (“Pour,” “Calamity”), complacency (“Consider the Source”), and looming environmental collapse (“A Great Flood”). Yet despite the weight of its subject, the music often lacks the sense of urgency or emotional release that once defined Silberman’s most powerful work.
Silberman wrote much of the album while walking around the land near his home studio in upstate New York. During those walks, he noticed a neighbor clearing part of the forest to make space for vehicles. That observation sparked songs like “Carnage,” which starts with spare synth and voice before exploding into a stormy full-band climax, packed with striking imagery—a decapitated snake, a toad crushed under a tire. “Accidental damage,” Silberman sings as the music breaks open in a rugged guitar solo. The title track reaches for the same vividness, describing “chawed up trees with skeletal leaves.” It also hints at his growing interest in electronic sounds, as skittering drum loops by drummer Michael Lerner weave through the latter half of the track, twisting like something alive and mutating.
That raw, immediate energy doesn’t carry into the longer pieces like “Something in the Air” and “Deactivate.” Those songs drift along on delicate arpeggios and mournful vocals but never find their shape. The Antlers have always embraced slow, ethereal soundscapes, but on earlier records those sounds still carried high emotional stakes and bursts of intensity. Here, they look straight at the scale of environmental disaster and end up with little more than a quiet sigh.
Throughout the record, Silberman circles around the question of responsibility for the climate crisis. He often points the finger at himself—or at people like him—everyday consumers who toss out disposable items without a second thought. There’s sincerity in that guilt, but it doesn’t always translate into compelling lyrics. “Is it enough to add to cart with buyer’s remorse?/Well, if you don’t know where to start, consider the source,” he sings on “Consider the Source,” an opener that echoes the warm, glowing mood of 2021’s Green to Gold. A few tracks later, the opening verse of “Blight” takes a more pointed tone: “Quickly, I need it!/Shipped in a day/Oceans away.” The words are blunt, leaving little room for interpretation.
This kind of introspection has merit, but it’s hard to ignore what’s missing. The album shows little anger toward the corporations, fossil fuel magnates, and politicians who have driven the climate crisis for profit. Everyday consumers are not without fault, of course, but there are far greater powers at play. In contrast, Tamara Lindeman of The Weather Station painted a chilling portrait of those forces in “Robber” from 2021’s Ignorance. That kind of confrontation is largely absent in the Antlers’ view of the world.
Perhaps that’s why Blight feels oddly detached for a record about an inherently political subject. In 2025, when the Environmental Protection Agency has been gutted and national parks stripped of funding by a science-denying administration, the quiet ambivalence in Silberman’s writing stands out. The album contains flashes of anger and guilt but not a clear sense of resistance. On the final track, “A Great Flood,” Silberman sings gently, “Of this I’m uncertain/Will we be forgiven?” The question hangs heavy, like the smoke-filled sky it reflects. Another, more pressing question lingers behind it: Who exactly is “we”?
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For as long as we’ve known Taylor Swift, she’s played many roles, the songwriter and the storyteller, the narrator and the main character. In the last two years, she’s become both the tortured poet and the billionaire showgirl. Her 2024 album The Tortured Poets Department captured her deepest heartbreak, which unfolded alongside her greatest victories: the record-breaking Eras Tour, her long fight to reclaim her master recordings, and a whirlwind romance with her now-fiancé, Travis Kelce. Never one to take it easy, she began her next project by saying, “I want to be as proud of an album as I am of the Eras Tour, and for the same reasons.”
Swift’s twelfth studio album, The Life of a Showgirl, is anything but reserved. She opens with “The Fate of Ophelia,” a love story that lifts her away from heartbreak, not into a fairytale, but out of tragedy. On The Tortured Poets Department, she spent thirty-one songs writing her way through sorrow. Here, she seems to undo it all in just one.
The melancholy that colored her last four records is mostly gone, yet The Life of a Showgirl still feels surprisingly understated. Swift reunites with pop powerhouses Max Martin and Shellback for the first time in eight years, crafting arrangements built around crisp ’70s soft-rock drums and minimalist hip-hop beats reminiscent of Pure Heroine. The songs focus heavily on her voice and lyrics, but they don’t quite capture the lush emotional nuance she found in her collaborations with Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner.
Outside of “Ophelia,” the other clear radio contender is “Opalite,” a breezy pop-rock track that recalls Red-era songs like “Message in a Bottle.” The difference is that 2012 Taylor never would have started a love song with lines as biting as, “I had a bad habit of missing lovers past / My brother used to call it ‘eating out of the trash.’”
For the starry-eyed young Taylor, romance used to be the lens through which she saw everything. Now in her mid-thirties, she still portrays love as pure, but her stories come with more complications. The acoustic ballad “Eldest Daughter” begins with her guarded and detached, then gradually opening up as the song unfolds. The narrative works, but it also shows the album’s smaller emotional scope: she gives the same weight to romantic vulnerability as she does to frustrations about the internet.
That’s about as serious as Showgirl gets, in fact, it might be her funniest record yet, depending on how much you’re laughing with her. On “Father Figure,” she playfully references George Michael while poking fun at her feud with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun, singing, “I can make deals with the devil because my dick’s bigger!” Then there’s “Wood,” her first attempt at disco, which channels The Jackson Five’s “I Want You Back” and Diana Ross’ “I’m Coming Out.” It’s a cheeky, joyful track that nods to her fiancé’s prowess both in life and in love. “Wi$h Li$t” is equally over-the-top, think “Royals” rewritten by someone who’s as close to American royalty as you can get, yet its domestic fantasy somehow feels sweet and genuine.
When Swift stops trying to prove anything and simply exists within her music, the magic comes back. “Ruin the Friendship,” like “Betty,” captures the innocence of a teenage crush that lingers into adulthood. “Wilted corsage dangles from my wrist / Over his shoulder I catch a glimpse,” she sings, as memories of missed chances fade into a funeral decades later. Then, in the present, she mourns what could’ve been: “It was not convenient, no / But I whispered at the grave / ‘Should’ve kissed you anyway.’” Swift’s greatest gift, the one at the heart of the Eras Tour, has always been her ability to make a song feel like a lived memory, no matter how many times you hear it.
But by the next track, “Actually Romantic,” she’s back in character, reviving her “Blank Space” persona to seemingly take aim at Charli XCX. Over a grungy Pixies/Weezer-inspired beat, she taunts, “It sounded nasty but it feels like you’re flirting with me / I mind my business, God’s my witness that I don’t provoke it / It’s kind of making me… wet!” The jab feels random, especially given the references to Charli’s “Sympathy Is a Knife,” the “CANCELLED!” lyrics on this album, and their supposed reconciliation on the “Girl, So Confusing” remix. Maybe she wrote it just to amuse herself.
The closing title track nearly ties everything together. Featuring Sabrina Carpenter, Swift tells the story of an aging showgirl named Kitty who warns her about the ruthless world of fame. By the song’s end, Taylor flips the narrative, claiming her own power: “I’m immortal now, baby dolls!” She’s still marked by the battles she’s fought, but she didn’t have to lose herself to win, and she hasn’t shut the door on those who come after her. Like Elizabeth Taylor, the world might gossip about her personal life, but history will remember her career, exactly as she intended.
When Michael Jackson passed away, TIME Magazine wrote, “In the theater of celebrity tragedy, each play has three acts.” Having escaped Ophelia’s fate, Taylor Swift now finds herself in her fifth. She’s still a fascinating main character, though her focus has shifted to life under the microscope of social media. Meanwhile, outside her kingdom, the world continues to face crises, from climate change to political unrest and humanitarian disasters.
There’s nothing wrong with seeking escape, but the best pop music makes personal emotion feel like everything is at stake. Speak Now, Reputation, Folklore, her most powerful albums transformed her pain into something universal. For the first time, The Life of a Showgirl finds Taylor Swift not growing through love, but resting comfortably within it.
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