Sometimes it's hard for would-be hipsters of a certain age to warm up to an act like Taylor Swift. The blond-maned moppet was, after all, born after the release of Nirvana’s Bleach, and, age-wise, might well have been the baby on the cover of Nevermind, were it not for that troubling, south-facing tinkler. Then again, consider that Cobain was (cough) younger than Swift when Nirvana started (pop has always been a young person’s game, Madonna excepting), and that Swift, a person who began her career with a song called "Tim McGraw" and now sublets his house when in L.A., writes almost all of her own songs, is a wizened, engaging performer, and was (no small feat) the largest-selling performer of last year. Feet at least half-dipped in hat country (even with all its restraints, still perhaps the most album-friendly genre in the business), it's easier to see her (worst case) becoming a well-selling Faith Hill-style perennial chart-topper than someone like a LeAnn Rimes, much less Miley Cyrus. Sure, her songs consist in no small part about young love gone awry. Then again, so did Joni Mitchell's. 7 p.m. at Grand Ole Opry House with Trace Adkins & more
Tue., April 14, 7 p.m., 2009
