On “Fresh Out The Slammer”

We don’t need another song interpretation, we don’t need another song interpretation – we don’t need another ….I wrote up a quick little song interpretation:

Title: Fresh Out The Slammer

Artist : Taylor Swift

My interpretation of this song’s narrative will delve into the idea of locking away a part of oneself—not out of desire, but out of necessity (to ensure its survival).

Throughout the song, our protagonist explores her experiences with these survival instincts, and their role in her life. Rather than being rooted in anger, denial, or resentment – the protagonist’s exploration is rooted in resolute acceptance (and subsequently, weighted grief). This is precisely what attracts me to the story being told here (it’s a fascinating one, and we’ll break it down together, line by line). Let’s start:

Now, pretty baby,I'm runningbackhometo you Fresh out the slammer,I knowwhomy first call will be to (Fresh out the slammer, oh)

First and foremost: I’d like to take a moment here to define the differences between ‘home’ and ‘house;’ these words may seem similar enough at first glance, but they are not! And this distinction becomes increasingly important (especially as we approach the bridge of the song later on + the fine line that will be drawn between reality and curated reality).

House: a building in which someone (anyone) lives – an object, material, easy to build – easier, perhaps, to tarnish – and to build up again (much like your reputation / dependent on moving parts, perceptions, forever shifting – forever in the market, bought and sold, curated and staged). A building that can be created to suit any occupant.

Home: In contrast, a home can refer either to a building or to any location that a person thinks of as the place where she lives and that belongs to her.

In the opening verse of this song, our protagonist runs (there is a sense of urgency here) back to her home. Irrespective of where this ‘home’ may actually be, what’s important to note here is that there’s a sense of belonging created by this space, a sense of belonging that is unique to the protagonist – and to the protagonist alone.

She is fresh out of the slammer (some sort of a cage / restriction / prison) that she occupied (for reasons + a duration unbeknownst to us as readers. This is intentionally left ambiguous – but mental prisons come to mind here).

All we know so far – is that the protagonist is in a rush to return to this sense of belonging.

The second line of the song, then, leads us to another fascinating discovery; here, we learn that this belonging isn’t unique to a specific space – but rather, to a person:

I know WHO my first call will be to.

Anothersummer takingcover,rolling thunderHe don't understand me

Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter

He was withherin dreams

I have to defer back to another one of my favourite narratives to break down the first line here – High Infidelity; in High Infidelity, the tone of unease/ foreshadowing / urgency / tension / confrontation is set up vis a vis the weather: “rain soaking, blind hoping” & “storm coming, good husband – bad omen.”

Similarly, in this narrative – the rolling thunder personifies some sort of an external threat that pushes our protagonist into taking cover (with summer + the sun, I think of a spotlight, and of being in the public eye i.e “I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror” from Anti-Hero).

The use of “another” is important here, because the protagonist isn’t new to this anymore – it’s yet another summer, yet another phase of protecting this part of herself because she must – because the thunder is rolling in, and the spotlight is on, and there’s (perhaps) no other option.

This rolling thunder, then, introduces a “he” into the narrative. This is someone who we do not know, and who does not understand this part of the protagonist that she’s trying so desperately to protect.

Interestingly, we’re also introduced to a “her” – important to create a distinction here between “her” and “me.”

These two may very well be one and the same; but, perhaps, here the protagonist is reflecting on a past version of herself – a version which is so detached from who she is now, that referring to “her” as “me” just doesn’t fit. A split happens here – we’re now discussing four characters:

Let’s assume, that this threat accompanied our protagonist long after the spotlight was off – and as the winter rolled in.

The weight of this threat led to a tension that was so palpable for our protagonist, that she nearly broke her back from carrying it – amidst silent, bitter dinners (if that doesn’t sound like a prison I don’t know what does).

At this point in the song, we’re no longer discussing the protagonist herself (as she currently stands) – but, we are discussing another character “her”: The perceived threat (“he”) accompanied “her” into the dream space that “she” occupied.

Here you may be tempted to say:

“Into His dream space, right?”

Not necessarily.

No possessive pronouns are used when referring to the dreams here, and this is (in my opinion) intentional. He wasn’t with her in “his dreams,” “her dreams,” “my dreams,” or “their dreams.”

This is important, because here, the writer is subtly recognizing that the origin / ownership of these dreams and fantasies isn’t nearly as significant as the jarring fact that this threat, this “he” held a space next to her in these dreams (by default, like a limb – like a spare part that she could not lose).

This goes hand in hand with approaching her time in the slammer from a space of resolute understanding / acceptance, rather than aggressiveness / denial.

This is our prison, this is our slammer – this is our baseline.

Gray and blue andfights andtunnels

Handcuffed to the spell I was under

Forjust one hour ofsunshine

Years of labor,locks andceilings

In the shade of howhe was feeling

Butit's gonna be alright, I did mytime

Nowpretty baby, I'm running backhome toyou

Fresh out the slammer, I knowwhomy first call will be to (Fresh out the slammer, oh)

In the second verse – we’re introduced to this theme of an escape; an unsuccessful escape (evidently).

Here, the narrative is fleshed out a little more, and we’re provided with the backstory behind the protagonist’s eventual exit (not escape) from the slammer.

Grays and blues are fairly straight forward (blue has always represented – well, the blues). A bruise from a fist fight also comes to mind here. A fight against whom? Your guess is as good as mine – but personally, my greatest battles have always been against my own mind.

What’s important to note here: That there was an attempt to fight, an attempt to escape vis a vis this tunnel (an unsuccessful attempt, as the protagonist ultimately found herself back in the slammer, handcuffed to a spell).

Let’s explore this spell, though, because it’s fascinating.

In fairytales, when characters are under enchantment spells – more often than not, they don’t have a level of awareness re their minds being under the influence of said spells. In this case; however, our main character does have a certain level of awareness re the spell she’s under (it’s giving….The Truman Show). Why am I making this assumption about her level of awareness? Because of what follows, because of what’s spoken – and most importantly, because of what goes unspoken (in parenthesis below):

Handcuffed to the spell I was under (that I gave into / eventually accepted) FOR just one hour of sunshine (fame? The spotlight? Love? Freedom to daydream? To create? To breathe?) Irrespective of what the sunshine represented, a tradeoff was made – one that the protagonist was aware of, and one that she ultimately found herself tethered to.

Following her failed attempt at an escape; our protagonist spent years labouring away, picking at locks, breaking ceilings (glass ceilings + potential records?) Whatever she did (or didn’t do) seems irrelevant now; ultimately – she was cast into the shade of his feelings (yes, the “he” from earlier – he must be a hoot at parties. I digress).

The tradeoff hardly seems fair in the grand scheme of things. As the protagonist looks back at her time in the slammer from the present, she pacifies herself by saying “but it’s going to be alright (now), (because) I did my time.”

You know what that reminds me of?

Have you ever heard experienced, bitter people saying something along the lines of:

“you have to put in the time, to earn the flexibility to be as relaxed as I am now?”

Or:

“You can’t have success handed to you on a silver platter – you’ve gotta do your time.”

The idea is nauseating, but it’s also – unfortunately, true. That’s how the world is structured – and it’s no different for our protagonist, there was no escape from this prison – there was just resolute understanding….But because she put in her time, it’ll now supposedly be alright (my inner cynic is plotting her prison break as I write this, but that’s neither here nor there).

It’ll also be alright because she’s running home to someone who accepts her for all that she is (and all that she isn’t); she is running home to that sense of belonging (one that remains preserved, protected).

Cameraflashes, welcome bashes

Get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge

As I saidin my letters,now that I know better

I will never losemy baby again

She’s not home yet, though – if getting home is the goal of her quest, then she must first pass these camera flashes and welcome bashes. Hoax is another wonderful (and incredibly depressing) song, and I’ll briefly touch on some lyrics from Hoax here:

“my best laid plans, your sleight of hand – my barren land, I am ash from your fire.”

Ashes now seem far more impersonal – and this is where our character’s growth / experience comes through. At one point (in Hoax) – the grief from this fire, this tragedy was so new – so heavy, that the protagonist felt like she was nothing more than ash from the destruction. In Fresh Out The Slammer – she herself gets the matches, and she tosses the ashes (past versions of herself? The residue of grief / destruction) casually off the ledge. This doesn’t mean that the weight of the grief is any less than it had been in the past; but perhaps, with the support of her experiences – our protagonist is better equipped to carry the grief with her.

We also learn another interesting fact here: That the protagonist had been writing to her “home,” her “pretty baby” or “you” while she was in the slammer – and that in these letters, she recognized her past, inexperienced self. This was the version of her that initially landed in the slammer (and subsequently caused her to lose her connection to her “pretty baby / home / you”).

My friends tried, but Iwouldn't hear it

Watched medaily disappearing

For justone glimpse of his smile

All those nightsyou kept me going

Swirledyou into all of my poems

Now we're at the starting line, I did mytime

I love this verse of the song because the self reflection is candid, which is important. This prison, the slammer – her confinement – she takes ownership for all of it (yes this situation may have been unfair, yes I didn’t have the experiences to make sound decisions when I landed in the slammer – but that wasn’t the be all end all). There were people that tried to help along the way (her friends); but, she wouldn’t hear it.

Instead, she allowed a (very important) part of herself to disappear daily…For just one glimpse of his smile. This is the first time in the narrative that we get the sense that our protagonist (at one point) longed for his validation, his approval – even though, we’ve identified now that he was an immediate threat to this part of herself that she was trying to protect. It’s a complex dynamic – a fundamental flaw of the human condition.

Despite all of this, whatever it is that she’s trying to protect, kept her going ; she swirled “you” into all of her poems. And she’s only now at the starting line – as she approaches this person that she’s been referring to throughout this entire reflective saga

Now, pretty baby, I'm running

Tothe house whereyou still wait up, and thatporch light gleams

Tothe one who says I'm the girl ofhis American dreams

This is interesting – notice how she says she’s running to the house…Not the home (which is what she opened with); and yet, “you” are in the house (a home can be anywhere, a house may just be a building – but, in this case, it’s a building with “you” waiting up for her, specifically).

Also present in this house? Someone (impersonal), who “says” (which isn’t the same thing as “believes” or “knows”) that she’s the girl of his American dreams. Unlike the opening verse – he’s not with her in dreams – but she is supposedly the girl of his American dreams – this is important, because we mustn’t confuse “the one” with the “he” from earlier.

“You mean there’s another character?! This is getting confusing.”

Indeed, there is another character – but I promise, this is the last one. “The one” waits for her in the house, alongside her actual home – or her pretty baby, or “you.” The porch light gleaming is also very American dream-esque; the house itself personifies the American dream – but, this house clearly has layers, and it’s protecting / hiding what actually matters – her home.

There’s also a shift in the power dynamic – previously, “he” was with her in dreams (she didn’t seem to have much control over this fact, it was just accepted). In this case, our new character “the one” in the house, is claiming that she’s the girl of HIS American dreams – she doesn’t need him, but his American dreams may need her if they are to sustain themselves.

And no matter what I've done,it wouldn't matter anyway

Ain't no way I'm gonna screw upnow that I know what's at stake

Here,at the park where we used to sit onchildren's swings Wearingimaginary rings

It doesn’t matter: What landed her in the slammer, what she may have done in her attempts to get out, how she may have screwed up in the past – she accepts it all, but it’s irrelevant, background noise. Even the house, as it currently stands (her external reputation), isn’t our main point of focus anymore (she has come to terms with the fact that this house must exist).

She is now, ferociously determined not to mess up (an abundance of life experiences appear to support her with this lofty goal). She now ‘knows’ (she may not know much of anything else, but she knows what’s at stake, and what she’s trying to protect).

I imagine her exiting the house, through a backdoor, and landing in a park. This is where her home is…This is what she’s been running to all along, this space here, that is so unique to her, and her alone.

She’s at a park where “we” used to sit, on children’s swings…Wearing imaginary rings – she has come home….To a version of herself, that was tucked away for safekeeping – that had to be tucked away for years, lest it be lost to the gruesome slammer, to the tension of being with “him”, or to her own inexperiences.

She is coming home to her innocence, to a child who was preserved – despite it all (and to whatever this child represents for her).

That’s heavy – I know…But…

it's gonna be alright, I didmy time