In a letter posted to Instagram prior to the release ‘s sixth studio album, the late artist’s family made clear the motivations that spurred the project to completion. “This is a complicated process that has no right answer. No clear path. We simply know that it was important to Malcolm for the world to hear it.” When magnified under the cynical lens the music industry, such an addendum would seem to carry with it the weight posthumous expectations, clunky capitalism parading under the guise good intentions. Yet in parsing through Miller’s final thoughts, it becomes apparent that Circles is a refreshingly polished work and not some empty cash grab strung together to fulfill contractual obligations or the selfish desires others.
Released two days before what would have been Miller’s 28th birthday, Circles was originally designed to be a companion piece to 2018’s Swimming, an album released a little over a month before his passing due to an accidental drug overdose. Songwriter-composer extraordinaire Jon Brion was left with the exceedingly difficult task picking up the pieces, and he does well to nurture the vision that emerged from their time together. The consistent stylistic focus stemming from Brion’s involvement as caretaker yielded an album that is comprehensive without being indentured to one particular sound. Not once does Miller’s presence get lost in the mixing, his silvery intonation gliding from one record to the next, simultaneously conducting and pondering the world at hand.
In life, Miller was transparent about his flaws but equally persistent in his pursuit growth. His search for clarity brought him down many musical paths such that he came to embody the six degrees separation between Mac DeMarco and . He was a mecca connection points, furnishing a community that cherished his sensibilities and relished the opportunity to share in his creativity and humor. Nonetheless, Miller was beleaguered with demons that only seemed to multiply as the years progressed and his success ripened. With postmortem epilogue Circles, it’s admittedly easy to latch on to the eerie foreshadowing that tails his every word; many have pointed to the chilling premonition GO:OD AM’s “Brand Name” as the jumping f point (“To everyone who sell me drugs/Don’t mix it with that bullshit/I’m hoping not to join the 27 Club”). Indeed, Miller’s preoccupation with an early demise and the notion skating by on borrowed time makes for gutting material when considering the circumstances surrounding his death. He spends more time singing than on any other project, opting for a plainspoken presentation that carves out space for his voice to be the primary conveyor emotion. There are times where he sounds altogether too weary to push beyond muttered conversational tones, as if he’s just been stirred from a long hibernation only to find that the sky remains obscured by the same thick veil anxiety that tucked him in.
Although Miller’s lyrics on Circles hold devastating new meaning in the wake his absence, the messages within are galvanized by gusts hope. There is a playfulness to his vulnerability, the optimistic undercurrents breathing vitality into his closing act. He confronts his demons with open arms, recognizing the need for self-preservation in sifting through the grey areas his life. Struggles with fame (“I heard they don’t talk about me too much no more/And that’s the problem with a closed door) and depression (“Maybe I’ll lay down for a little/Instead always trying to figure everything out”) surface in candid portraits as he probes the contours his consciousness for the semblance balance that eludes most individuals.
The album leads with a titular track where even the bouts self-admonishment are tinged with aspiration (“Well, this is what it looks like right before you fall”). Miller’s contemplation the mistakes that sent him back “at the start the line” is quickly ushered into the one-day-at-a-time lurch “Complicated,” a track where the evolution his sound is front and center. Piano ballad “Everybody,” a cover Love frontman Arthur Lee’s “Everybody’s Gotta Live,” serves as a reminder the imperishable shot clock looming above existence, while the stuttering vocal samples “Blue World” fer the promise a brighter tomorrow.
Miller spends a great deal Circles dissecting the destructive character traits and insecurities that hamstring and ultimately threaten to hijack his well-being, patterns behavior that come home to roost on “Hand Me Downs” (“I made it, but I hate once I build it I break it”). “Hands,” the one song that could be categorized as “rap,” looks to healthier means coping, questioning “When’s the last time you took a little time for yourself?” Miller’s pleas on “I Can See” (“I’m in an oasis/Well, I need somebody to save me/Before I drive myself crazy”) are eventually married to the realization on “Surf” that loneliness doesn’t have to be the eternal prison he initially envisioned for himself (“I know somewhere there’s home/I’m startin’ to see that all I have to do is get up and go”).
No entry is more vital to this reckoning than single “Good News,” a song that longs for reconciliation amidst the uncertainty the future. It’s as if Miller is trapped at sea, the tropical storm clouds teasing warmth at the edge the horizon. His lovingly documented yearning, scrawled along the dingy’s wooden bow as whitecaps froth around him, is one the album’s most powerful moments surrender.
Subtle instrumental embellishments contribute to this ambiance and accentuate Circle’s understated vocal arrangements. Whether it be the delicate plucking “spring cleaning” strings on “Good News,” the whirling eddy synths on “Woods,” or the dreamy pop grain “I Can See,” such diversity is anchored in the more nuanced sounds that Miller was wielding later in his career, and they surface on Circles as fleshed out as they’ve ever been.
In setting his sights on something greater, Miller plunged untapped facets his being. He delved deeper and deeper from one project to the next, ten stumbling upon alarming truths but retaining a striking honesty with each discovery. This is Circle’s most haunting quality: for all its beauty, there are vast swathes potential left swirling in the heartbreak what could have been. Miller was just beginning to come into his own as an artist, and such refinement will presumably idle in its current unfinished state.
Still, there is closure to be found in such a goodbye. With each passing song, Miller further straddles the threshold separating contentment and melancholy, revelation and insanity. In this sense, Circles is far from a linear excursion, let alone an epiphany on how such things are not mutually exclusive. Rather, it’s a continuous exercise in reflection and self-care, a stirring denunciation ambivalence and apathy from someone who spent his days sorting through the cluttered contents his mind. It’s a resiliency that gestures onward, sometimes slowing to a near flat-lining crawl and other times whisking forward as if compelled by Shakespeare’s “once more unto the breach.” Amidst such poignancy, Circles stands as a fond and fitting farewell that finds solace in sadness and acceptance in knowing that transformation need not be shackled to the past.