Enter Welcome to the Monkey House, an utterly drab attempt to stay cutting edge and maintain hipster moxie. Taylor has apparently traded the vegan food for a steady diet of chamomile tea and disco. Amidst tired drum machines, sappy guitar strums, and gurgling synthesizers, all 13 songs simply retread old melodies and spout choruses that consist of nothing but unspecific nostalgia. On "We Used to Be Friends," refrains of "Come on now, honey" are preceded by a narrator bitching about how, well, "We used to be friends." Who is this person he used to be friends with? What happened? As none of this is spelled out in the song, we are free to come to our own conclusions. Perhaps this sedate Monkey House they speak of just isn't as exciting as Urban Bohemia.
In the right context, a lack of lyrical substance is hardly the end of the world. The problem is, something clever, fun, or, at the very least, enthusiastic needs to pick up the slack. There are moments here that seem promising, intros laden with studio trickery that hint at the possibility of tasty crescendos. But, at the end of the day, all we're left with is a zoo full of slumbering primates.
