It is unhurried and languorous almost to a fault, offering Swift at her most emotionally stripped back. I suppose it's been that kind of year.
Evermore is effectively a sequel to Folklore, created with the same core group of collaborators, most notably Aaron Dessner, the multi-instrumentalist maestro of arty rock group The National.
"To put it plainly, we just couldn't stop writing songs," Swift explains in her liner notes.
"Or to put it more poetically, it feels like we were standing on the edge of the folklorian woods and had a choice: to turn and go back or go further into this forest of music."
The rustic aspects hinted at in Swift's statement remain core to her continuing musical journey, albeit filtered through a digital lens that ensures she is never just rambling down well-trodden paths.
With her usual pop collaborator Jack Antonoff also on board, there is a dreamy pulse of synthetic modernity present.
Guitars are not so much picked as pickled, the soft pianos warp around the edges, and weightless backing vocals float gauzily around Swift's soft and clear lead vocals, as if she is summoning ghosts.
It is a setting that suits her first-person storytelling narratives of love gone wrong or sometimes right, heavily imbued with a sense of exploring roads not taken.
Swift learned her craft as a country artist, and she is accomplished at the art of packing a lot of drama into short vignettes.
As one of the undisputed pop superstars of the online age, Swift's particularly avid fan base are known to parse her lyrics for revelations about her personal life.
Yet apart from a touching tribute to her opera singing grandmother, Marjorie, you would be hard pressed to draw conclusions about her private affairs from this set of neatly turned fictions.
There are underlying themes of forbidden or dangerous love (Ivy, Long Story Short), romantic neglect (Gold Rush, Tolerate It) and grudging forgiveness for exes (Happiness and Closure).
But they are tales in which men can be as scorned as women (Champagne Problems), and that take playfully noirish twists in Cowboy Like Me (about con artists in love) and No Body, No Crime, where members of LA sibling band Haim lend their backing vocals (and, indeed, character names) to a tale of spousal homicide.
If these songs were autobiographical, then the police would have to get involved.
Fans may note with interest the presence of a new co-writer on several tracks, credited as William Bowery, but revealed by Swift to be her long time British boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn.
Marcus Mumford also makes an appearance, offering a shadow vocal on Cowboy Like Me. Two other guests elevate the album's strangest songs.
Coney Island features Dessner's band The National and offers an insight into where their aesthetics meet, with Swift's lucid, melodious voice counterpointed by the mumbled intensity of Matt Berninger's wrecked baritone.
Americana maverick Bon Iver (who also contributed to Folklore) makes a guest appearance on the title track, which feels like a sombre Swift love ballad being emotionally pulled apart by Bon Iver's freakish high vocals and leftfield lyrical sensibility.
This, I suspect, is the collision that Swift is seeking, shattering her pop instincts and releasing her into surprising musical spaces.
As a direct follow up, Evermore may lack the impactful frisson of Folklore, but is nevertheless another treat of classy, emotional songcraft. Where Swift goes from here is anyone's guess.
This is a musical diversion that has been made possible by the pandemic mandated absence of touring, giving Swift time to explore musical roads less travelled.
With no sense of tempo or urgency, and in no hurry to get to the chorus, these are not songs built for stadiums. Will it be back to business as usual in 2021? Or will Swift walk this crooked way ever more?
