Not only did Mac Miller save me from drowning, but in fact, his music taught me how to swim.

A year ago, I was given the bittersweet opportunity to give my thoughts on an album that I held so close to my heart: “Swimming” by Mac Miller. At the time, I was barely eating, most nights, I wouldn’t sleep and every day brought about new, seemingly unwinnable battles. I had tried counseling, but it didn’t do much for me, and every day I felt myself slowly sinking into an abyss.

This was the peak of my relationship with “Swimming.” I couldn’t bear to listen to anything else. The review I wrote for the album had every ounce of my soul in it and it was cathartic for me to put my turmoil out in the open.

At first, I felt exposed and vulnerable to the community of people who read it, thinking to myself that I had worn too much of my heart on my sleeve.

Then people came up to me and told me how the piece helped them access their own emotions. That was the best feeling in the world. Eventually, I ended up winning the Sunshine State Award for “Best Review” in the collegiate category for the piece. I had never seen my name on an award, and the recognition for something that brought solace not only to me, but others, gave me a triumphant feeling of joy.

Now, in 2020, I have the privilege to review Mac Miller’s posthumous album “Circles,” and my life is completely different. I am at the highest point I have found in my adult life, and I am currently beating the demons that had me in a chokehold not too long ago. This aspect of my life actually gave me doubts about writing this review. I worried I couldn’t do Miller’s work justice by reviewing in a mental state so contrary to the direction in which his work was heading, but after listening to the album, to my exuberant surprise, this was not the case.

The upbeat energy is a constant on “Circles,” and it initially threw me off. The only tangible pieces of information fans have about his last few months are his public cries for his tour to finally start and the turmoil involved in his romantic life. From the direction that “Swimming” was going in, I assumed that this album would sound like the deep end of the pool, rather than floating in the shallow section. The first time I heard “Swimming” I thought it was a record about recovery, and, at points, that is true. That is the notable aspect of Miller’s post-“FACES” career: his music is extremely reflective, and maybe I interpret “Circles” as an uplifting album because, right now, that is where I am.

The production is spacious, with a multitude of instrumentation layered throughout the album. This is most likely the work of the album’s curator, Jon Brion.

For those who aren’t familiar, Brion is the multi-instrumentalist producer extraordinaire whose hand was heavy in the discography of Fiona Apple, Kanye West and Elliott Smith. He took the most responsibility in creating this album after Miller’s passing, and assumed a very conservative approach to wetting Miller’s paintbrush.

This record doesn’t feel incomplete or indistinguishable from Miller’s discography, and the aura seems as organic as possible. Recovering the lost ideas of genius is an unbearable task, yet Brion’s efforts aren’t futile or nonchalant, as we have seen in other posthumous releases. At the end of the day, it still feels like a Mac Miller album.
The most illuminating portions of the album’s composition are its influences. We had seen Miller diverge from traditional hip-hop structure on “Divine Feminine,” and, further on in his career, we found him utilizing the hip-hop stature he acquired quite liberally. We can see how far he has traveled from his roots on this album.

The sounds are reminiscent of The Beach Boys, Elliott Smith, Jack Johnson and other seemingly opposite artists. I feel weary hypothesizing Miller’s trajectory because Brion had expressed in an interview that this was meant to be the middle of a trilogy of “Swimming” albums. The third was intended to be a straight-up hip-hop record, so it’s impossible for me to calculate how far his career would have paddled away from “K.I.D.S.”

It will take me awhile to get hip to the sound that Miller was exploring on “Circles.” Note that I was not someone who found Miller later in his career: “K.I.D.S” was the first mixtape I ever downloaded off the internet. Mac Miller rapping was one of the most treasured memories of my adolescence, so to hear him completely transform into what he does on “Circles” is going to require some patience from me — just like “Swimming” did.

The difference is that this incarnation of Miller is permanent, which makes its effects just as enduring. I cannot gear up to figure out what metamorphosis Miller’s career will take. I must put my excitement to hear his new music to rest. Mac Miller’s talent and means for expression were limitless, and this last chapter in his long, transformative discography only emphasizes such to his fans.

I always felt extremely disheartened by assuming what Mac Miller’s last months were like, and to know that he was on the upswing only deepens the blow of his loss. I am enthused to know Miller was beating his demons, but to know that wasn’t permanent leaves me feeling nothing but dejected. “Circles” fills in the blanks, but the answers don’t make me feel much better.

This album wasn’t meant to be the final chapter in Miller’s life, yet I am at least satisfied to know what was on his mind.

Mac Miller was the songbird of many lives in my generation, and I would never reject a chance to listen to his last tune. I am just happy it was a good one.