Taylor Swift is the last of the monocultural pop icons. Put it this way: I bet you’ve heard of her. Your parents have heard of her. Your children have heard of her – and so have your grandchildren. This used to be commonplace – but not now. She transcends pop music.
This might be why so much of the discussion of the Swift phenomenon has been about the facts and figures: hers is the first tour to gross more than $1 billion, while global leaders have begged for her to visit their countries due to the financial boost she brings. Not to mention her tendency to pump out new editions of her albums every 20 minutes to keep her top of the charts as loyal fans loyally part with their cash. And, certainly, the Swift organisation is abreast of the numbers: at Wembley I saw for the first time seats sold where their occupants didn’t have a view of the front of the stage – which is unforgivable. Yes, there’s the demand – you’ll have to pay around £800 on a resale site for one of these seats – but, really? Should artists and promoters pocket that money just because they can?
And yet this was the least cynical evening out I think I have ever participated in. The whole thing was suffused with an atmosphere of intense kindness and care, generated by her fans, the ‘Swifties’. They were swapping friendship bracelets (my hard-swearing 23-year-old daughter was taking time to talk to young girls and give them her spares), admiring each other’s outfits, taking photos and beaming and laughing and treating it like a giant house party – one almost entirely without alcohol.
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