In Memoriam: Paying Respects to Mac Miller

Written by Elizabeth Braaten

Additional contributions by Afterglow Editorial Staff Members

I began listening to Mac Miller when I was a freshman in highschool and never stopped. Mac was with me through heartbreaks, nights out with friends, and long car rides to nowhere. He was there on the night of my high school graduation, and he was there when I left home for college. I grew into the person I am today with him, and I expected to continue to keep growing with his music there to accompany me, through both the good times and the bad. I’ll miss him.
-Elizabeth Braaten, Managing Editor

I got into rap with the corny trio (Mac Miller, Childish Gambino, Chance the Rapper). Which was a really fitting, seeing I myself was a corny little dude, pretending to be all edgy and cool while also spending my Friday nights playing Dungeons and Dragons. And as their sounds matured, I felt as though I was maturing with them, as they kept me company through heartbreak and loss. To quote the man himself, “Enjoy the best things in your life, because you ain’t gonna get to live them twice.” Growing up is hard, and it’s even harder without those that you thought you knew so well. Goodbye Mac, you were one of a kind.
-Neel Homchowdhury, Program Coordinator

Just two days before his death, I was planning ways to get photo passes to photograph one of my favorite artists, Mac Miller. Then, just like that, he was gone. While nothing will change the pain felt by his loss, it’s kind of comforting to see the aftermath. In the single week since he passed, I have read mountains of positive experiences, Everything depicts a happy, charismatic, easy-going guy. He seemed to leave a hole behind that no one can really fill. As bittersweet as that might be, I take it as such a beautiful thing because he was one of a kind.
-Jonathan Castro, Photo Editor

Malcolm James McCormick, otherwise known to the world as Mac Miller, was born on January 19, 1992, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The son of a photographer and architect, he taught himself to play the piano, guitar, drums, and bass before beginning to rap at the age of fourteen.

Miller put out multiple mixtapes before signing with then Pittsburgh-based Rostrum Records in 2010, where he released his acclaimed tape K.I.D.S in August of that same year. With K.I.D.S., Mac Miller charismatically introduced himself to us as a carefree teenager with Nikes on his feet, Kool-Aid and frozen pizza in hand, and a headstrong commitment to indulging the whimsical joys adolescence had to offer him.

We had the pleasure of meeting Mac when he was just a kid making music for other kids. These were the songs to put on repeat as you rode around your city with your best friends, windows down, in beat-up old cars with questionable A/C systems and grainy speakers. For many of us, Mac’s music was the soundtrack to our summers, now an achingly violent inducer of nostalgia. But as we grew up, so did Mac.

Following the release of K.I.D.S. came Mac’s tape Best Day Ever, which featured the single “Donald Trump,” a song that solidified its place as an instant frat banger for years to come, as well as YouTube hit “Best Day Ever,” the gentle, uplifting track that gave the album its title.

After that came Blue Slide Park, the rapper’s 2011 breakthrough debut album named after Frick Park, a cherished childhood spot in Miller’s native Pittsburgh. This album, adored by avid Mac fans and casual listeners alike, was released the same year Miller was awarded a spot in the XXL Freshman Class and his career began to truly take off.

With each subsequent album released, Mac’s continued evolution as both an artist and a human being were evident. Whether he was pondering the meaning of life on Watching Movies With the Sound Off and GO:OD AM, crafting a soaring tribute to love and passion on The Divine Feminine, or delving into his own personal battles with depression and anxiety on 2018’s remarkably hopeful Swimming, one thing we’ll always know is this: Mac Miller never stopped attempting to better himself (and the world around him) through his art.

Malcolm James McCormick died on September 7, 2018, in Studio City, California, of a drug overdose. He was 26 years old.