ALL TOO SWIFT: A Story Of How I Heard Taylor Swift’s ALL TOO WELL (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault)
PART ONE
I came to know about this song through the social media buzz that predated the release of her album Red (Taylor’s Version). A lot of my acquaintances renamed their profiles to XXX (Taylor’s Version). Screenshots of Spotify player and snippets of lyrics found their way into people’s status… and to their hearts. I vowed to stay unaffected by the trend, mainly because her music was not of my taste.
One thing that put me off was that she was much more productive than anyone I know combined. How else could you explain the four albums that was released back-to-back? I was jealous, for all I had to boast were lots of cringe jokes, adding more movies and TV series to my watchlists, along with lack of attention in almost everything I do.
When mentions of the song flooded my feeds, I was like “10 minutes of a song of an artist I don’t care much about? Meh, I’ll pass it.” I mean, is she crazy? (I was unaware of the existence of the original song and the story behind it.) Who listens to a 5-minute music in the holy age of reels anyway, let alone a 10-minute song?
I thought I’ll never hear this song, no matter how hyped it was. And I held on to that belief… until I heard the song mere two days later.
PART TWO
It was a sunny afternoon. Our teacher was wrapping up the class which we barely listened to and those who wanted to speak to friends sitting far away from them used this opportunity to strike up conversations. Suddenly, a friend of mine turned around to ask me whether I’ve heard “All Too Well,” interrupting my daydream about a nightmare. I replied in negative. With a desperate, almost disbelieving look, she stared at me, expressions in her countenance (actually, the area sans mask and spectacles, which is a dangerous area to draw any conclusions from) translating to “Have you been living under a rock?”
When the staring match continued, I laid down my reasons for NOT listening to the song — or any of her songs, for that matter — and she was disappointed (by the fact or with me? That I don’t know.)
“Let’s listen,” she said.
“Nope,” I replied, “just nope. I-”
Swift came the reply. “Play it,” demanded her. I suspect that either she being too lazy to take out her phone or forgetting to bring earphones was the reason why I was subjected to this ordeal. Or just had a burning desire to listen to one of her favourite artists.
Deciding that obeying her is best for my health, I obeyed. I gave out a gasp when I saw the words ‘10 minutes’ and, rather unwillingly, clicked the first result that came up. ~Waiting for Godot,~ Waiting for the college Wi-Fi to get connected again, I was evaluating my options. I could have ran out — but I didn’t.
When the song finally started playing, I realised something: there was a considerable lag between the video and audio. I reloaded the page and changed the network… to no avail. “Yes!!!” I screamed internally. My brain was like, “Love you, HP. The laptop caused problems just the time I wanted it to happen. Would she leave now?”
She didn’t.
“That’s okay. The song could be played, right? That’s all I want.”
I agreed in a resigned voice as I untangled my earphones. Suddenly, the brain shot another thought: “Cheer up, lad. What’s the harm in listening to new songs? You haven’t heard any song of Taylor’s after The Man.” And so, I heard the song…
The evening light shining through the open windows and the half-drawn curtains cast a renaissance-esque touch over the classroom. Through the slightly-orangish tinge brought about by the slowly setting sun and dust accumulated in my lenses, I could see friends getting out of the class, with bags lazily hanging around one of their shoulders, chatting, while I was sitting down and listening to Taylor’s rendition (the viewing part comes after a 2 second delay) through an earphone. The other end of the earphone was on the friend’s ears, who was conversing with our classmates in her usual chatty self while standing, exuding grace. Our social butterfly. She listened in an incandescent way to what others had to say with great interest, all the while enjoying the song. As the sunlight gleamed on her, Sufjan’s voice rang in my head. The beauty that she brings, illumination, illumination.
That’s when I noticed it. 24 Frames. The view in front of me looked as if it was taken out straight from the movie. A depiction of mundane things that we take it for granted. Objects are moving barely; they are never our subjects. The true intensity will only be felt only if you observe the scene over time. Sounds are audible, but you won’t pay close attention. It is the picture, beautiful and engaging as ever, that matters the most. The true beauty could be only appreciated only if we are actually into it. Only if we had stopped and took a good look at it. It tests our patience to the core, but the result is sweet. It looked like a moment frozen in time; I wouldn’t mind if it became my private Groundhog Day. I actually wanted her to sit down, say “आराम करना,” but didn’t want to disturb the tranquility of the scene that was unfolding right in front of my eyes. I was afraid that if I had shown benevolence and asked her to be at rest, I would be ruining the frame — which, I was scared, would lead to Kiarostami shouting at me from his grave. So, I was sitting there comfortably while she was standing there all the time (selfish me, innit?)
Like all good things, it didn’t last forever. Her friends were asking her to come back to the hostel. She glanced at the screen to find that there was still 2 minutes left. She looked as if she will move a muscle only after fully devouring this magnum opus. I was in two minds: one part wanted her to stay so as to not disturb the frame, while the other me desired to tell her to go, instead of standing in this almost-empty classroom listening to a song that could be easily accessible in a plethora of devices and platforms anytime, anywhere (I’m sure she could easily sing the whole song even otherwise) — but the voice barely left my throat. When she finally decided to part ways with my laptop, she gave me back her end of the earphone and said, “Listen to this fully.” After a pause, during which she packed her bag and I started cleaning the buds, she added, “Recommendation: do watch the accompanying short film and the Sad Girl Autumn Version.” And I was like “WAIT. There’s a sadder version than this? Damn. Someone broke her heart big time.”
She bade adieu and I was literally left to my own devices: for my earphone, phone, laptop, charger were scattered around me. I kept those words in my mind and before my brain got flooded with further lines of Python, I opened a tab in Chrome and searched for it. Am I being subjected to a 15-minute depiction of heartbreak? No thanks.
But later, I did watch the short, starring Dylan O’Brien, Sadie Sink and Taylor Swift herself. I was hooked to Rina Yang’s cinematography and the titles that intermittently appeared on the screen, as I always tend to gravitate towards aesthetically pleasing components rather the substance itself. I do have to say, despite my ineptitude in understanding anything remotely romantic and in describing technicalities, Swift does a fantastic job of translating her pain into moving images — reaffirming that she is a formidable figure both behind and front of the screen. The actors, dialogues, and vocals aid audience in understanding what Swift (and most of us too) was/is going through, making her a relatable figure for people across the demographics and geographical locations.
Maybe that’s what songs does. It is just an audio aid to spatial features, something with which we could enjoy (or forget) the little moments in our life.
PART THREE
For me, the moment was much more interesting than the song itself. Friedrich Schiller (and later, Sally Rooney too, though it was much of a statement for her) wrote “Schöne Welt, wo bist du? / Beautiful world, where are you?” and I felt as if the answer was unravelling in front of me, with Swift’s voice as the background music.
The theories and the real-life parallels only added to charm of the song, make it more engrossing. Eagle-eyed and rabbit-eared people were dissecting the minutiae of the lyrics by Swift and Liz Rose. Discussions on who played Him, later on (and the subsequent “GAFFER” theorem) was stuff for comedy, at least for me. The “Lost In Translation” gag and the casting amplified the age difference reference (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gWtrnb4KjU) that forms the core of the song.
I watched the 10-minute, original, the short film and a couple of blogs to truly understand what I’m writing about (all of it actually happened, in case you doubt it.) I really hope that the algorithm doesn’t mistake me for a die-hard fanatic of Swift.
Let’s see what I have to say about the song, say, ten years later. My perspective and remembrance of things past would’ve changed. Maybe Taylor Swift would have released All Too Well (20 Minute Version) — reflecting on her relationship(s) during her middle age — by the time I write my retrospective. Who knows? Only time.
As for the beautiful, fleeting moment I had experienced… I’ll remember it all too well.
(edit) I think I may have got my opening line already:
MANY YEARS LATER, as he faced the hiring squad, Mister Yeldho Shem was to remember that distant afternoon when his friend took him to discover All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) …
