This week the notes are short, partly because I’ve been busy, partly because I’m thinking about how I keep this letter fresh, and partly because I’ve been thinking about death and the obsession in arts we have with the ‘tragic romantic’ character.
Mac Miller died this week. He was 26, and his early work showed acres of promise. Such an incredibly sad loss. He was nearly at that age when we romanticise the death of the rising star (the “27 club“). Our collective fascination with the premature deaths of those with talent is a strange one – and when they don’t pass away, we (the royal we) spend our time asking why not. This felt especially pertinent a few weeks ago when Peter Doherty was spotted eating an enormous (like, 4,000 calories enormous) breakfast. The collective gasp at his visible ill health was palpable. “How was he still alive?”. When we think about the impact on culture people within that ’27 club’ had, that Mac Miller had (and promised even more), and that even Doherty had – why do we virtually celebrate their demise?
There was an almost premonitory plea from influential hip-hop blog DJBooth back in March on Mac Miller and artists putting themselves through torture for stories; “don’t lose sight of the light while swimming with the sharks, and don’t self-destruct just so they can view the fireworks”.
Lot’s to think about.
This might be a weird thing to say, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here.
As always, if you’ve read to here, thanks for indulging me ❤️.
See you on the dance floor.
Love Will Save the Day