It's okay to be sad and talk about it
Mac Miller's work, life and lessons
Hi, Ari here, this is a Friday post of my newsletter, today on Mac Miller.
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Sometimes even new music is old.
A project by Mac Miller, the rapper and singer who tragically died at 26 years old of an accidental overdose, is making a stir right now. One of his early, raw “mixtapes,” Faces, was (finally) released to streaming platforms this week... so it’s widely available to many for the first time.
This project came out in 2014, and is now projected to debut at #3 on the Billboard charts. Technology has upended the music industry, like so many other businesses, and it’s striking to see this “older” project surge to the top of the streaming charts.
Miller’s music found a huge following in real time, and continues to reach new people after his death. Like many artists grappling with their own pain, and sharing it, Miller’s music confronts sadness, depression and addiction head on. That’s the case on Faces, where the meaning hits you right in the face on first listen.
You hear a young man crying out. Listening at the time, you’d know he needed help.
Now, you know he needed help because his pain led him to self-destruction.
The songs features common trappings ambition in hip hop—bragging, boasting and self-reliance (“I did it all without a Jay feature!”)—but also direct references to his depression and drug-addled lifestyle while he was creating and recording Faces:
“At the rate I’m getting high, it’ll be hard for me to find tomorrow/ but I just pray that I’ll survive tomorrow.”
This is not just “glorifying drug use.” He’s telegraphing the risks he’s taking, which later took his life. The mixtape opens with him repeating, “shoulda died already,” a morbid opening that hangs over what we know happened.
As a songwriter, Miller is direct, blunt, and open. Mac’s honesty—with himself and with the world—has led many young people to say his music saved them, or gave them a way to reckon with depression and mental health.
It is both sad and hopeful that the work which inspired so many others could not help provide a way for him to survive.
My favorite song on this project is Here We Go, which takes a riff from The Delfonics’ 1969 song, “My New Love.” (Listen here).
It opens with an “oath” from the movie Kingdom of Heaven. I don’t know exactly why Miller opens the song with these lines, but I do wonder if it was his personal ambition for his art:
Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Be brave and upright that God may love thee. Speak the truth always, even if it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong. That is your oath.
To hear Mac in his own words, here’s an interview he did with Larry King.
If a celebrity with connections throughout all forms of media needs help and can't get it, I shouldn't be surprised that I've spent the last three years since my husband died completely alone. People tell me to just "smile more," or that I always look "angry." They tell me what food I should eat, what to do with my house, to get rid of my truck, and to volunteer somewhere. BUT no one listens to me. No one lets me talk. They dump their nuggets of advice and then run away as fast as they can. Your words are powerful, Ari, as are Mac Miller's words. It's not about needing a better mental healthcare system, and the people who say "You need a therapist" and then run the other direction aren't helpful. Our society needs to stop and listen to others. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to experience grief and let it evolve. Telling a person they're depressed is simply amateur psychology and judgemental. Start by listening, really listening without any judgement.
It’s very sad the such a talented young man was writing songs and actually crying for help against a battle of drugs. Also he left a legacy of help with those struggling today with many types if addiction and mental health issues. So many suffer with these battles.