The Mac Miller tragedy

The rap star’s death is painful here and beyond

A little less than a week has passed since the death of rap star Mac Miller, and though answers come in time, as the saying goes, the pain of the 26-year-old’s passing is still felt widely and deeply.

Since the Pittsburgh native’s reported overdose Friday, countless mourners — writing everywhere from Twitter to The New Yorker — have reflected on his untimely death.

This is, on its face, nothing new. Celebrity deaths are covered routinely and often excessively. And yet the reaction to Mr. Miller’s death has seemed unique and markedly raw.

Mr. Miller was an artist in motion. Though his career was already 10 years in the making, his penchant for reinvention had recently taken him to new heights. His recent records, on which he had emerged as a jazz-funk auteur, had earned critical and commercial acclaim. The derision that marked his early career was a thing of the past. Like so many kids, he had fumbled around, made mistakes, found his place, and now things were looking up.

And then he was gone. The very human trajectory of Mr. Miller’s musical evolution, a trajectory he seemed acutely aware of, was abruptly halted.

It is tragic for myriad reasons, not the least of which is the loss of Mr. Miller’s voice as an artist.

He had earned a reputation as one of music’s most vulnerable lyricists, rapping candidly at first about the trials and tribulations of being a teenager and later about his struggles with depression and drug addiction.

He was a consummate musical professional, concerned not with making the most popular songs but thoughtful records. At a time when streaming individual songs is the norm, Mr. Miller preferred putting out cohesive records.

And perhaps above all, Mac Miller was a good person. No stories have emerged of abuse or hateful behavior, as happens all too often these days. Rather, observers far and wide have remarked upon Mr. Miller’s consistent decency.

Stories have emerged of Mr. Miller picking up the restaurant tabs of strangers or granting interviews to young journalists with phony credentials. His peers have celebrated him for his kindness and generosity.

And while Mr. Miller is being mourned throughout the country, the heartache has been particularly pronounced in Pittsburgh.

Born Malcolm James McCormick, he grew up in Point Breeze the son of an architect and photographer. He filmed many of his early music videos around Pittsburgh Allderdice High School, his alma mater. Even after he moved to the coasts, he remained a prominent ambassador for the city of Pittsburgh.

Mr. Miller’s short life, his words and his spirit, have left us with a surprisingly rich legacy. He was an amiable and accessible artist, willing to use his status to lift others up or lend a hand. He was an inspiration to all those who hoped to better themselves, to evolve, ebb, flow and grow.

That we can no longer watch Mr. Miller work to better is a terrible blow to us all.