how to make a posthumous album, explained by mac miller's 'circles'
By Grace Niemiec
It’s always odd when you get the news notification that a household name has died, even if you didn’t necessarily follow them. I still remember where I was when I found out Avicii died, and, while I didn’t consider myself a fan of his music, I felt a significant feeling of loss. As a music lover, I knew there were thousands of fans somewhere whose world had been turned over by the loss of this one man. The same can be said for the day I heard that Mac Miller had passed. I had Swimming queued up in my saved albums, but I had never gotten to listening to it. I did that night.
Although I never developed the connection to Mac’s music that his die-hard fans have, after his death I developed a new-found appreciation for his work. It wasn’t hard to tell by his final album that he was struggling with issues deeper than most people could comprehend, yet he pushed on by expressing this in Swimming. It was something any fan of musical expression would admire.
Nevertheless, I was concerned by the announcement of a posthumous album from the late rapper. I’ve often felt uncomfortable around the release of music that clearly was not approved for release by the artist before their death. At times, it seems like the musician’s estate is simply going in for a cash-grab, all while violating the deceased artist’s wishes (the estate of XXXTENTACION comes to mind). Personally, the practice has always seemed dirty to me.
But Circles is not dirty. In truth, a perfect word to describe the project is pristine. The minimalist production allows the focus to go towards whom this project serves: Mac himself. If there’s any other way to describe the 48-minute-long tracklist, it’s white. It’s hints of sweet pink. It’s a calm baby blue. It sonically follows the color scheme that so many of his former projects presented.
Circles is no ordinary posthumous album. There was calculated time and care put into the formation of this album to provide closure for Miller’s family, friends, and fans. In other words, those who understand and can appreciate what this man would have wanted.
A first listen to Circles is an experience to take on your own, so I’ll spare the in-depth details of every track and instead touch on the basic themes.
The ‘circles’ of the album’s title represents going back to old habits: drugs, alcohol, and attitudes. It’s not uncommon to hear Miller reflect on his dangerous relationship with substance abuse in tracks such as “I Can See” and “Woods,” along with the fallout of this relationship in the songs “Good News,” “Complicated,” and “That’s on Me.”
Miller also commonly touches on mortality and an end that he sees in his near future, leaving a bit of a pit in the listener’s stomach with the knowledge of the end he did meet. But the spaces in which this album would normally leave a listener depressed are compensated by the inclusion of tracks like “Hand Me Downs” and “Surf.” With major themes of unconditional love and hope, they’re a welcome addition to a project with a heavy history behind it.
This reflection is pointless without recognizing the man who made this album possible: Miller’s collaborator and friend, Jon Brion. Despite being 30 years older than Miller, Brion was able to capture not only Miller’s but also an entirely different generation’s feelings of melancholy and pain. Miller’s work could not have been left in better hands after his untimely death.
All in all, it’s the kind of album you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, and just listen to. It’s intimate. It’s bittersweet. It’s honest and reflective — all the great things I loved about Swimming. And, regardless of a lack of in-depth knowledge of Mac Miller’s situation leading up to his death in 2018, this album’s purpose is clear: to honor the struggles and triumphs of a man through what he loved most: music. It’s what a posthumous album should be.