Every Song Ranked on Taylor Swift’s ‘Midnights’

“Question…?” may be brimming with rhetorical inquiries and blurry memories, but the rollicking track tinkers with Swift’s approach to pop in its corners. Listen to how her voice is refracted during the bridge, for instance, as if there’s a whole other multiverse of Swifts begging for the same answers; there’s also crowd applause on the track that’s credited to Dylan O’Brien (of All Too Well short film fame) and Rachel Antonoff, among others. Even if “Question…?” doesn’t fully congeal, the song boasts some fascinating tidbits to pore over.

Swift goes electroclash while letting the universe settle scores on “Karma,” which draws from new wave, alt-pop and driving techno as she defiantly states, “Ask me why so many fade, but I’m still here.” “Karma” offers Swift’s most playful mode on Midnights, with shots taken at naysayers and a charming wink to her movie-star boyfriend, Joe Alwyn; not every metaphor lands, but this one will be a blast to sing along to whenever fate delivers personal victory.

Don’t let the muted beginning and subtle instrumentation fool you: “You’re On Your Own, Kid” snowballs as Swift’s frustrations compound, and eventually reaches one of the album’s most effective crescendos. Kudos to Antonoff and Swift for refusing to rush to the payoff here, supplying the first half of the song with a sense of uncluttered grace before plowing forward.

“Snow On The Beach” focuses on the unlikely collision between disparate natural wonders — “weird, but f–king beautiful,” as Swift puts it — so it feels right that the song pairs the superstar with Lana Del Rey, another pop genius (whose influence Swift has praised in the past) with a totally different songwriting approach. The album’s lone collaboration sways with starry imagery and halting vocal takes, its quirks jarring upon first listen… but there’s something beguiling about “Snow On The Beach,” a summit of two artists who deploy ideas that seep into your skin after a few replays.

A song like “Bejeweled” takes years of life experience to perfect: when Swift declares “I can still make the whole place shimmer,” she sings as an adult who understands their self-worth after taking years to see it crystallize in front of them. A story of refusing to settle into early-thirties ennui, “Bejeweled” zips along with purpose, the plinking synths serving as connective tissue before bursting into sparklers above Swift’s hooks.

The hushed beauty that marked parts of Swift’s Folklore/Evermore era can be heard on “Sweet Nothing,” an understated ode to the calming presence of a relationship as the world seemingly spins out of control. The organ line offers a steady foundation, the saxophone sighs, and Swift turns the phrase “sweet nothing” into a double entendre for what her partner expects from her after a long day within the chaos. Swift conveys simple gestures here, and they’re among the album’s most affecting.

Detailed memories steeped in vulnerability, missed-chance romance, feelings evolving along with the words of the refrain — so many of Swift’s songwriting hallmarks show up on “Maroon,” and their impact hasn’t dulled one bit. The jittery dream-pop production pairs well with the flood of recollections, as Swift’s vocal performance — rushing through words but careful to pull back for the heaviest realizations — is just as dynamic as the lyric sheet.

The prettiest song on Midnights also happens to be Swift’s most intimate moment on the album: “Labyrinth” is stately and ethereal, with electronic lines skittering around Swift’s voice as she fears that she’s falling in love again. The synth-pop production here — the words twisting away from Swift and hovering in the song’s electron cloud — is breathtaking enough that “Labyrinth” is one of the few tracks on Midnights to repeat its chorus multiple times as an outro, and it more than earns that slow fade.

That pitched-down voice that opens “Midnight Rain,” then acts as a call-and-response partner to Swift throughout the song? It belongs to Swift herself, who warps her perspective to deliver both metaphorical context and brutal honesty on the track. The gambit works because that woozy hook is rock-solid in front of Antonoff’s programming and percussion, and when Swift eventually adopts the refrain in her own voice, the words cut through with righteous clarity, and greater power.

Although opener “Lavender Haze” contains some of the album’s most direct lyrical barbs — “I’m damned if I do give a damn what people say,” Swift admits on the chorus before quickly rejecting “the 1950s s–t they want from me” — those shrug-offs are driven primarily by the song’s intricate, irresistible groove. From the whirring modular synth to the sumptuous backing vocals (courtesy of Zoë Kravitz, in part), “Lavender Haze” sizzles as a piece of expertly arranged rhythmic pop, with Swift knowing exactly how to slide above the beats.

On Folklore standout “Invisible String,” Swift sang about an unseen twist of fate that tethered her partner and her together; a few albums later, “Mastermind” toys with that idea of star-crossed romance on “Mastermind,” on which she posits that, no, “none of it was accidental,” and that her calculating approach to pop stardom seeped into her love life as well. Ornately constructed and brilliantly self-effacing, “Mastermind” demonstrates Swift’s songwriting wit at the end of the album, the words “I’m only cryptic and Machiavellian ‘cause I care!” echoing in the mind as Midnights comes to an end.

Get ready for “Vigilante Shit” to become one of Swift’s all-time fan favorite tracks, and for good reason: the vengeance declaration, during which the superstar takes aim at an enemy and helps other women do the same, is stripped-down in its cutthroat approach, with deep-bubbling beats and synths that swirl around Swift’s proudly deployed venom. Take Reputation, dial up the audacity and add about five years of axes to grind, and you end up with the alluring sucker-punch of “Vigilante Shit.”

“It’s me / Hi / I’m the problem, it’s me.” Swift has said that “self-loathing” partially inspired Midnights, and its best song, the wondrously scathing self-examination “Anti-Hero,” is drenched in it. Swift levels the nastiest criticisms against herself before anyone else can lob them her way,” and while “Anti-Hero” possesses its fair share of sardonic masterstrokes — “Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, like some kind of congressman?” Is a mouthful of a line that Swift utterly nails — but Swift and Antonoff’s production details make the song soar, ensuring that every criticism arrives in a sleek, shiny pop-rock vessel. “Anti-Hero” is ripe for stadium shout-alongs and TikTok lip syncs; it was designed for the moment, and built to last.