If there was one artist I could describe high school with, it would be Mac Miller. Whenever my buddies and I were staying up at night for incessant school projects or stupid conversations, Miller was always in the background. We would be so exhausted from talking, just letting transcendent albums like Swimming fill the silence in waves.
When Miller’s newest posthumous album, Balloonerism, was released, it felt like welcoming back a close friend. Once again, Miller was whispering, talking and laughing along with all of us. But, beyond that, the nature of the album has made me reflect on my very own nature and the changes I’ve been through since the first time I listened to his music.
Miller’s tragic passing on Sept. 7, 2018 led to his estate taking over and publishing two posthumous albums, Circles and Balloonerism. Circles was released in 2020, when I just started high school, and Balloonerism was just released on Jan. 17, 2025, nearly five years after the release of his first posthumous album.
Circles released to widespread acclaim, providing a glimpse of Miller’s true potential and the future plans for his music. Posthumous albums are always a tricky business. Do it right, and it embellishes the artist’s legacy for years to come, but do it wrong, a once venerated artist’s spirit and creations are trampled over like a carriage over a dirt road for petty cash. To me, Miller’s second posthumous album Ballonerism deserves the same acclaim and enjoyment as Circles, a soul-wretching, substantial and emotional album that mirrors my very own growth and journey.
The entirety of Balloonerism leans into a very experimental, psychedelic and emotional design. It starts off with “Tambourine Dream,” a 33 second track that’s nothing but an interesting albeit confusing tambourine beat, already highlighting the experimental nature of the album. However, the next track, “DJ’s Chord Organ,” is a very fitting follow up to the short and somewhat confusing intro. The song feels like a beating heart, with an organ's gentle pulse and vocals from guest artist SZA conjuring the emotions of tenderness and intimacy.
Miller’s music is just so creative. It overflows with pictures, ideas and emotions, all forming a kaleidoscope of raw, standout music. His lyrics are clearly representative of his struggles with drug addiction, with lyrics like “Tryna find Heaven, I get high but never come close” and “Okay, I went to sleep famous and I woke up invisible / Rich as fuck and miserable” on his next track, “Do you have a destination?”
Tragically, Miller’s death by accidental drug overdose lends an even deeper weight to those words, each word appearing even more haunting as we look back through the lens of his death. Although these lines are more explicit, much of Miller’s work on this album can be scrutinized as closely as any literary text. On “Friendly Hallucinations,” a faint, high-pitched ringing weaves throughout, amplifying the track’s sense of disorientation. I believe that this ringing is also intentionally representative of the constant, inescapable yet frustrating whispers of addiction.
Lines such as “She's fallin' for her hallucinations (Hallucinations) / But what's love without imagination? Yeah” challenge the very nature of love, suggesting that sometimes love itself is a form of fantasy, of delusion — a construct of the mind. Miller’s music here could be endlessly picked through and analyzed, further emphasizing the beauty and creativity of his music.
Juxtaposition and a sense of duality are also constant presences through Balloonerism. “Transformations” features his alter ego, distortive and enigmatic, as if he’s talking to himself and questioning his life choices out loud. “Excelsior,” “Manakins” and “Funny Papers” all have upbeat instrumentation juxtaposed with morbid yet beautifully self-aware lyrics, the comparison unsettling yet brilliant. I especially enjoy “Manakins” — its classical, harp-like flourishes and violin interweaving between the beats, with the introspective and insightful lyrics, provide an especially captivating blend.
The last track, “Tomorrow Will Never Know,” feels like a final goodbye from Miller. It’s eerie and emotional, with a whole chorus dedicated to questions about the afterlife. Do dead people dream like we do? Do they love like we do? And do they feel like we do?
Over the track’s sweeping, 12-minute length, it feels like we're shoved into a dark room, forced to comfort our life’s uncertainties and complexities. Throughout it all, we are given one last glimpse into Miller’s mind when he was crafting this album. The phone ringing to voicemail as the track nears its end is just so haunting, showing us that, yes, he is gone. No matter how many times you call out to him, he will never answer again. The rings fade off into the distance.
In the end, Miller’s discography reflects my own growth and identity as a person. Just as his music transformed from youthful hip hop to experimental jazz, my own tastes have matured and changed since high school. 14-year-old me would have never liked Balloonerism, but the album speaks volumes to me now. Miller’s journey serves as a reminder to keep changing. To keep moving forward, to avoid sinking into the same dark waters that claimed him, so that we don't have to ultimately mourn what could have been.
Miller's Balloonerism is a testament to love, hope, self-reflection and the complexities of his life. The highs and lows, the beauty and the pain, are things that resonate with me more deeply than ever. What a gift of an album, a perhaps final mark on the music industry from an unparalleled talent.
Miller, I hope you’re still dreaming, loving and feeling, wherever you are.
