Her decision to start the rerecording process not with her debut, but its 2008 successor seems telling. Her debut went seven-times platinum in the US, but her songwriting came into sharp focus on Fearless, revealing an 18-year-old who could not only knock out indelible melodies and choruses with the efficiency of a Nordic pop factory – a facility that, if anything, seems more remarkable listening to the rerecordings 13 years on – but who also wrote lyrics that spoke directly to a teenage audience. Fearless deals in wistful reminiscence about female adolescence: “When you’re 15, feeling like there’s nothing to figure out … this is life before you know who you’re going to be,” as one of its most celebrated songs puts it. You could raise an eyebrow at the worldly-wise tone emanating from a woman at the ripe old age of 18, but that was the point.
The best writing on Fearless offers a brilliant fixing of the understandable teenage impulse to mythologise the recent past, to carry on as if it’s ancient history, because teenage lives are in constant flux and forward motion, packed with events that invite nostalgia because they can only happen once: no one has a second first kiss or loses their virginity twice. As a result, Fearless is the kind of album in which fans have a genuine emotional investment. If you want to construct a narrative of a beloved female artist pouring her heart and soul into work that resonated with her audience – writing the songs that saved your life, as the Smiths put it – versus the dead-eyed male music-industry operatives interested in nothing but money, it’s a very smart place to start.