Well, it came to an end this week, or at least on this side of the Atlantic. After months on the road the phenomenon which is Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour ended a five-night run in London’s Wembley Stadium. The BBC reported that The Eras Tour has seen Taylor perform to ‘almost 1.2 million fans in the UK, and last night’s show was the 131st date of the tour worldwide. Speaking at the gig, she said: “I’ve never had it this good before. I’ve never had a crowd that’s so generous.”’

The economic benefit to the communities and locations in which she has toured has been enormous. The Taylor Swift phenomenon has impacted right across the UK this summer… and I must confess, even if grudgingly at first, I have become a Swiftie! It is hard not to do so with a ten-year-old as part of your life constantly turning the car radio onto one of the many 24-hour Taylor Swift channels.

But behind all the feathers and friendship bangles, the Stetson hats and t-shirt dresses, it is the lyrics to her songs which have caught my attention. In no small way she is one of the few whose ability to craft meaning through words and music, and to tell a story of depth and insight, makes her for me at least rank along my all-time hero Bruce Springsteen. And no more so than in speaking of grief, hurt, loss and sadness.

I grew up at a time when people very rarely talked about their feelings and what might be called the big questions of life, especially about death, dying, grief and loss. Emotions were buttoned up and put aside and folks argued we just needed to get on with living.

But over time that cold detachment within society has gradually thawed. And a major contributor to that change has been the way in which the arts and entertainment has become the vehicle and means of expressing deeply held thoughts and emotions.

Indeed a few years ago I used to run a workshop called ‘Death at the Movies’ in which I tried to help health and care staff to recognise that everywhere in contemporary cinema the themes and issues people tried to ignore and shy away from were staring them in the face – literally!  I tried to show that whether in the world of the latest Disney movie or on popular TV soaps that there was an honest and a very real, sometimes raw, attempt to deal with the hard questions of life, death and meaning in a way which helped people open up and to start to talk.

I would suggest that remains the case in a lot of contemporary cinema but the last few decades have also really witnessed the ability and desire of popular singers to use their music and lyrics to deal with some of life’s hard questions.

And why is all this important? Well at the most basic level we all need to get better about talking about death and dying, about managing grief and doing the work of mourning, and we are enormously helped in doing that if that which entertains and inspires us, be it cinema or music, is being used as the vehicle for that communication.

In the previous few decades in my life no-one encapsulated the ability to tell a story, and to make me think about the realities of life, love, death and dying better than Bruce Springsteen. Taylor Swift is tackling the same issues, opening the same door to honest reflection and critical thinking, for a new generation – and for that I much admire her.

Springsteen and Swift deal with the themes of loss and grief in different ways, ways that reflect their own personalities and experience, but also the era and unique time they both live in. That is what makes their contributions important.

Taylor Swift speaks to and for her generation, in a unique and accessible way. Increasingly her lyrics particularly in albums like Folklore and Evermore, and especially in tracks like “My Tears Ricochet” and “Marjorie,” try to translate the universal experiences of sorrow into relatable experiences. She describes her own finding of solace amongst heartache and her melodies underpin the truth that grief is not just a moment but a journey that goes on.

‘The autumn chill that wakes me up
You loved the amber skies so much
Long limbs and frozen swims
You’d always go past where our feet could touch
And I complained the whole way there
The car ride back and up the stairs
I should’ve asked you questions
I should’ve asked you how to be
Asked you to write it down for me
Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt
‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me
Watched as you signed your name Marjorie
All your closets of backlogged dreams
And how you left them all to me.’

(from Marjorie, Taylor Swift)

Bruce Springsteen has long spoken to me and many with death and grief a companion within his songs, whether in the iconic “The River” or the reflective “Terry’s Song,” Springsteen confronts mortality with a hard, unflinching gaze. His music and its raw description of the nature of loss, loss of youth, decaying towns, and passing friends, shows the nature of community supporting sadness, of grief held up by collective strength and solidarity.

‘They say you can’t take it with you, but I think that they’re wrong
‘Cause all I know is I woke up this morning, and something big was gone
Gone into that dark ether where you’re still young and hard and cold
Just like when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

Now your death is upon us and we’ll return your ashes to the earth
And I know you’ll take comfort in knowing you’ve been roundly blessed and cursed
But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told
And when she built you, brother, she broke the mold’

(From Terry’s Song, Springsteen)

Whether it is Swift’s or Springsteen’s music, grief and death are not merely subjects but are portrayed as integral parts of the human experience. They invite us to sit with our sadness, to reflect on the impermanence of life, and to find beauty and meaning in the midst of loss. While Swift’s approach is deeply personal and introspective, often channelling the inner turmoil of grief, Springsteen’s work often looks outward, exploring how communities and individuals grapple with death and its aftermath.

Ultimately, these artists and the many, many creatives, who use their art to speak of deeper truth, remind us that grief is a universal experience, yet deeply personal in its expression. Whether through Swift’s intimate, lyrical narratives or Springsteen’s expansive, anthemic storytelling, the themes of death and grief resonate across their music, offering solace and understanding to those navigating their own losses.

For those of us who work in places and spaces where we are invited to bring solace and comfort, to enable and encourage others to ask life’s questions, I think we would all do well to let the singers sing, the story tellers talk, the television play and the silver screen entertain with the truth of loving.

Donald Macaskill