exactly two months since Mac Miller died. I’ve been thinking about him a lot since his passing. I’ve been “around” the blogosphere for the deaths of artists in the past– although none quite felt as surreal or as impactful as Mac Miller’s; that’s not a slight towards any other recent deaths, but a comment that is purely a reflection of myself. If you’re a fan of an artist, that artist’s death, foreseen or otherwise, will affect you. It will also affect some more than others; even those within the same fanbase, and that might depend on the type of fan you are; how devoted, how much of a stan, how feverish. Or it could simply be how you handle the news of a death, any death. It’s all subjective, it’s all personal.
This does not make any one artist’s death any less important or impactful than another. It’s all subjective, it’s all personal. However, when it comes to Mac Miller, I don’t think I am alone in saying that this death in particular– already in the wake of tragic passings from stars on the rise, Lil Peep and XXXTENTACION– felt stabbing and gut-wrenching, in another way. In an unfamiliar way– because I had never really felt so upset about the death of an artist, someone who I did not know personally– and yet in a familiar way, because I have grieved the death of a loved one in the past.
I did not know Mac Miller. I never had the chance to meet him, throughout my years at HNHH– at one point, we had planned out a digital cover with the Pittsburgh star, however Mac pulled out at the last minute, I forget why, it’s unimportant. Even leading up to his last album, Swimming, I was itching to speak with him about the idea of self-care specifically. I swallow a lump in my throat, one which I can still feel now stuck unwillingly in my chest.