Wisely, Brion leaves "Once a Day" almost untouched. Much more successful is a nimble rendition of Arthur Lee's "Everybody's Gotta Live", going a long way to providing cred with regards to 70s psychedelic pop here it becomes a piano-led tune, with flourishing live drums providing the equivalent of a filthy bass drop. Like Smith in the XO era, Mac seems to have been spinning Beatles records in search of influence, manifesting slightly awkwardly on the acid-trip waltz "That's On Me". Brion's graceful touch comes in handy in much the same way it did for Kanye or Elliott Smith - providing lush instrumental beds for the artist to construct their songs upon.
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Here, acid-burned guitar drips fuzz over the otherwise Jack Johnson-chill "Surf" a chop of 50s quartet pop that would make Madlib blush steams the gorgeous "Blue World" elaborately orchestrated instruments recall Brion's work on Late Registration on the ornate "I Can See" and "Hands". When the video of Mac Miller letting "Once a Day" flow out onto a piano played at Celebration of Life, the world at large could see the artist coming out of his shell that obsessives had been waiting on for years maybe ever since "Objects in the Mirror" cleared the first steps along this path.Īs ever, Miller was not content just dipping his toe into a new sound. Most of all, he had the songs, in one form or another. He had the singing voice, however scratchy and untrained he had the knowledge of 60s and 70s pop and psychedelia to inform his tinkering with analog instruments he had the brilliant Jon Brion as mentor and collaborator. Miller knew he had the tools to be something so much more than a rapper, no matter how well he put his fratboy past in the past and dived into more acclaimed waters.
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I don't mean they sound the same, which is kind of a relief: Circles is more beautiful, full of more moments of grace and gentle psychedelia than its G-funk-aping predecessor. Regardless of how it all ended, I bring this up because Circles has its roots in those clean, peaceful, singing-forward albums, The Divine Feminine most of all.
He got sober and made albums about happiness and devotion and love. Mac Miller made the biggest leap he'd ever make. Mac saw his fanbase clamouring for darker, sadder, more drug-fucked music, unknowing or maybe uncaring of the cost, and he did something in response which always makes me smile. But I don't quote it here just to kill your vibe. That quote is, I think, the saddest thing in Mac Miller's discography, because it makes it perfectly clear he knew that the drugs that eventually took his life also powered his artistic evolution. I don't have to go all genius-annotations-conspiracy on you to illustrate how Mac's evolution as a person was paralleled by the meteoric changes in his sound - he did that for us himself, all the time. The thing I'm talking about is how Miller compulsively, almost pathologically put himself under the microscope, celebrating wins but exposing flaws, shockingly honest about the parts of himself he wanted to change and the demons he knew would always hinder that.
Maybe the most compelling thing about an evolution that, even cut unfairly short, looks now like one of the most impressive and unique in music today. The quote above is from Faces, but beyond the obvious relevance to Circles, it illustrates something about Mac Miller I find utterly compelling. Review Summary: A shame that my tragedy my masterpiece.
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