Taylor has also evolved as a lyricist. No shade to early romps like “70’s Street Munchies” or “Stole My Push Bike,” but punk’s reigning snarl champion has figured out how to address weighty issues without being didactic or surrendering the snotty squeal that made those early tracks so alluring. On “Knifey,” the band slows it down and lets the barre chords ring, allowing Taylor’s heartbreaking plea to burst through. ”All I ever wanted was to walk by the park/All I ever wanted was to walk by the river, see the stars/Please! Stop fucking me up,” she begs. But she’s armed and ready: “Out comes the night, out comes my knifey/This is how I get home nicely.” Taylor is either recalling a personal experience and the knife is her weapon of defense, or she’s channelling the ubiquitous dread all women face. In switching pronouns from “I” to “we” halfway through the track, Taylor inverts the “alone in the pit” trope from the beginning of the album; this psychic pain is near-universal. But, as ever, Taylor’s knotty internal struggle reigns: “I turn around and backtrack, because I ain’t that tough.” Comfort to Me transports us to a familiar, paradoxical world: uncertain, harsh, and magnetic.
Chris O'Connell on Amyl and the Sniffers' Comfort to me.
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Knifey at Glastonbury 2022.
