September 7th, 2018 // on the topics of music, death, substance abuse, & legacy (TW)

Waking up to the news of your favourite artist’s death is never something you’d expect, but it’s how I spent the first few hours of that fateful morning, mourning the death of a man I never truly knew.

Due to timezones and delayed news reporting, I learned of Mac Miller’s accidental overdose at the crack of dawn on the 8th. I was from the other side of the planet, from a world that had progressed to the next day. It was a timely reminder that the earth keeps spinning, no matter what. That a single world-shattering event can leave such a profound impact on people all over the planet, but has little effect in the way life has to go on. And this, arriving on the heels of my 17th birthday, was a grim realisation I don’t think I was prepared for. I spent the day in a haze, on a school trip that went by numbingly slow in my eagerness to head home and let the news wreck me.

Background

Mac Miller, born Malcolm James McCormick, was a different kind of rap artist in the well-established world of hip-hop. There were the obvious differences: he was white, Jewish, and started his career embodying the stereotype of “frat rap”—white suburban dudebros who rap about drinking and partying, all without the lens of struggling or the POC experience that were deeply entrenched in hip-hop. Needless to say, I’ve never taken to much of his earlier work. Starting from cheesy pop-rap, his transition into a darker and more mature artist was an astounding feat to accomplish in just a few years. He dabbled in experimental rap and jazz, releasing those projects under alter egos to allow more breathing room for change. Battling issues with depression and addiction, he never shied away from incorporating every aspect of them into his music, letting his worst demons guide his art and its trajectory.

Mac switched up his style and cadence often, with a lengthy career that spawned funk, R&B, neo-soul, and even singer-songwriter, all at the core of the rapper he was. I honestly cannot pick my favourite project from his discography—every single one has something unique to offer and speaks to different parts of my soul. And isn’t that the hallmark of a great artist? Not one with the catchiest music or the most profound lyrics, but one who never stops trying to grow and manages to spark some undeniable feeling in us.

He delivers his best and worst to listeners, which escalated with his car crash and DUI arrest just months before his death. He resented the increasing pressure from the media, lamenting: “I run around with open scissors, they takin’ pictures/I could lose my head it grow instead, gets only bigger,” from “Buttons”. He went dark on social media for months but returned a seemingly renewed person in July 2018 for the release of Swimming. He passed two months later, falling victim to fentanyl-laced drugs.

Music & Mortality

Mac always knew his death was coming, in a sense. His critically-acclaimed 2014 mixtape, Faces, was built around that vision. The opening line, “I should’ve died already,” still haunts me whenever I revisit it. He’s prophesized the circumstances of his death on numerous other occasions: “To everyone who sell me drugs: Don’t mix it with that bullshit, I’m hopin’ not to join the 27 Club” from “Brand Name”; “It won’t be long until they watchin’ me crash/And they don’t wanna see that/They don’t want me to OD and have to talk to my mother” from “Perfect Circle/God Speed”. It made watching his meteoric rise and tragic end even more difficult, knowing that he was very aware of how far his issues could take him—to the point of no return—but still being unable to stop.

Being relatively young myself, this was my first insight into substance abuse and addiction. The pain and honesty in his music bridged that gap between my adolescent brain and the scary state of adulthood, signalling just how fast life can all go sideways. Much of his music is crude and centres around substance abuse, but it never felt suggestive or encouraging of people to follow this wildness—it was a warning, a de-glamorisation of fame and drugs as he admits defeat to this addictive lifestyle: “All my life I’ve been afraid of powder, all my life I’ve been afraid of power/Where did all that go?” from “New Faces v2”; “You never told me being rich was so lonely/Nobody know me, oh well/Hard to complain from this five-star hotel” from “Small Worlds”. In the end, he never did make it to the 27 Club—he died at the age of 26.

A Quieter Kind of Vulnerability

It’s an indescribable feeling to hear Mac’s voice again after his death. With the announcement of the album Circles in 2020, fans were reasonably worried that it would be just another posthumous cash grab, like recent releases for several deceased hip-hop artists. But all it took was one listen to quell those fears. Watching prominent music critic Anthony Fantano break down over Mac’s heartwrenching first posthumous single “Good News” marked the beginning of a journey of vulnerability Circles offers like no other past project of his.

The album opens frankly: “Well, this is what it look like, right before you fall.” Another sombre prophecy comes true as he sings this listlessly in the final album he completed before his “fall”. This melancholy persists throughout the album, giving listeners a subtler, quieter take on the chaos in his mind as compared to his previous work: “Good news good news good news, that’s all they wanna hear/No, they don’t like it when I’m down” from “Good News”; “Half the time the wheels that’s in the back of my mind/Just keep on turning ’til the tire’s flat and burn until the fire crack” from “Hand Me Downs”; “Don’t ask me what I think/It never really mattered what I had to say” from “Once A Day”. His lyricism shines through when accompanied by the toned-down instrumentals, as he deviates further away from rap and travels into indie/singer-songwriter territory.

A Musical Legacy

Circles sparked this devastation in me that I hadn’t known I felt about Mac’s death. I had been heartbroken over his death, but never thought to call it grief—grief, in my opinion, was reserved for someone you actually knew. But no one can deny the mark he left on the world, shown by the 970% spike in streams of his music in just days after his sudden death. “Good News” became his highest-charting single ever, as the devastation of the posthumous track and album hit fans and casual listeners hard. In this, grief exists wherever there is a connection, wherever a bond was formed. Music granted us that privilege without ever having to personally know him—a talent that transformed the industry and left a lasting impression in the form of a legacy. Mac’s drive was stoked by this responsibility of a legacy and the knowledge that it could all disappear: “No matter what one day everyone dies/You think you a God ’til you run of time/When you’re gone, what will you leave behind?” from “Soulmate”; “Things like this ain’t built to last/I might just fade like those before me” from “Woods”. This pressure was admittedly the trigger for his addiction issues and loneliness: “Spent all my cash on a broken dream/Went from weed and liquor to the coke and lean” from “Polo Jeans”.

On the Cycle of Substance Abuse & Mental Health

And so, with this, we’ve come full circle—his struggles with addiction and mental health fuelled the growth of his music, which led to fame, power, and hardships, which only led right back to his issues as the cycle goes on (“My God, it go on and on/Just like a circle I go back where I’m from” from “So It Goes”) and he is unable to cope any other way (“I cannot be changed, I cannot be changed, no/Trust me, I’ve tried/I just end up right at the start of the line/Drawin’ circles” from “Circles”). Stuck in this cyclical struggle, it’s easy to see how it tripped him up when one moment of recklessness is all it takes for addiction to claim you. Of course, I can’t speak for this as I have no hand in addiction or depression, but Circles has been a great resource in gaining the privilege of sympathy for those who do. With addiction and mental health, there’s an illusion of choice—you could choose not to take drugs; you could just try to be happy. In truth, there’s always a whole network of variables at play, a circle of factors to consider, that makes it disrespectful to attribute a complex issue to solely an individual’s judgement.

If Circles has taught us anything, it’s that legacy comes from anywhere—what you leave behind is just as important as what you take from this world. With death striking at any time, your legacy could be your last actions, your last conversations; it could take the form of the last piece of art you ever created. Growth and self-awareness are immensely powerful in navigating our place amidst all of this existential contemplating. What kind of change do you seek in this world? Does that include yourself? (“When’s the last time you took a little time for yourself?” from “Hands”) Even if it doesn’t change the world, what we put out into it should be in service of caring for ourselves, of the privilege of growing. How are we going to change the world if we don’t look after ourselves first? (“You could have the world in the palm of your hands/You still might drop it” from “So It Goes”).

I still listen to Circles occasionally, to revisit Mac in his then state of mind. With every listen I treasure it more, needing lines like “I know we try/Days, they go by/Until we get old/There’s water in the flowers, let’s grow” from “Surf” to keep me going in turbulent times. Whether he intended for it to be or not, Circles is the best send-off Mac could have given to the world, as he equips us with all we need to keep growing, as we say our reluctant goodbyes.

And to Mac, there’s a whole lot more for you waitin’ on the other side. I hope you’ve found peace there.

_______

notes:

- fentanyl is a powerful narcotic that is often illegally cut into other drugs, making fentanyl the most common opioid overdose in the US in 2018. people who take these drugs have no clue they’re also taking fentanyl, which has escalated the current opioid crisis in the US. Hasan Minhaj has a great episode on fentanyl in his show Patriot Act if you’re interested.

- “the 27 club” is a list of legendary musicians who have all died at the age of 27. includes Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin, among others.

- lyrics from Genius