On the thumping “Get Em Up,” Mac Miller raps, “I’m Justin Bieber meets Jadakiss,” placing himself in the microscopic center of a Venn diagram between the cherubic pop star and gravel-voiced MC. In reality, he wound up being more Tyler, the Creator meets Conor Oberst. But at the time his breakthrough fourth mixtape K.I.D.S. came out in 2010, the former fusion really did seem like his future. A Pittsburgh teenager with a deep love of hip-hop, an excellent team around him, and the desire to grow and experiment musically, Miller rose through the talent-rich blog scene and tap-danced through a crowded stage of ”next up” white MCs (Asher Roth, Yelawolf, the frat rap battalion) to emerge as the one with a shot at a lengthy stay in the limelight.
With hindsight, part of what makes K.I.D.S. so charming is the interwoven presence of the 1995 cult cinema classic Kids itself. The flick was directed by Larry Clark, but more associated with its writer, Harmony Korine, and focuses on underage kids in New York City experimenting with drugs and sex in a vague tapestry of a plot. (That the film and Mac’s life ended tragically only strengthens the connection in hindsight). Dialogue excerpts pop up on multiple tracks, and while there’s not a tight narrative to the mixtape, the movie doesn’t exactly have one either. It also feels relatable – this artistic 18-year-old fell in love with a ‘90s cult classic and brought it into his world of L rides, East Coast boom bap, and goofy similes. It doesn’t totally work, the way most creative projects from teenagers don’t totally work, but it’s profoundly endearing.
There’s an inspirational, motivational throughline to the album running alongside Mac’s flexes, but it’s one that isn’t quite profound. “Welcome back to K.I.D.S., um, follow your dreams,” he says at the start of “The Spins,” with the intonation of someone asking you to repeat your question because they had their headphones in. Verses on songs like “Senior Skip Day” stress a Ram Dass “Be here now” ethos and the importance of taking in the moment. It’s an attitude not terribly common in hip-hop, and one that resonates with anyone who began dealing with intense nostalgia the second they graduated from high school.
The bittersweetness of K.I.D.S.’ best tracks like “Back in the Day” and “Senior Skip Day” are obviously intensified knowing about Mac’s subsequent struggles. But even back in 2010, he was able to convey emotional complexity because of his wistful lyrics, raspy hooks, and production choices. “Back in the Day” has tender, melancholic electric piano, the kind Mac continued to use throughout his career, and the drums on so many of these records have a vinyl-style warmth to them. These contemplative soundscapes help the concept of an 18-year-old rapping about yesteryear stick and feel genuine, not contrived. Mac also acknowledges his youth cleverly with lines like, “I’m takin’ you back to them nursery rhymes / When I thought the world just deserved to be mine.”
A few of the names dotting K.I.D.S.’ liner notes would go on to be staple figures in Miller’s work, most notably producer E. Dan and engineer Big Jerm of ID Labs, the defining studio in Pittsburgh hip-hop. But K.I.D.S. is also special because so much of it was never quite repeated, like the distinctly 2010 blog hit “The Spins.” That one prominently samples Empire of the Sun, while “Don’t Mind If I Do” flips the instantly recognizable bubble bath synthesizers from Owl City’s “Fireflies.”
From his earliest days, Miller was always more of a pocket rapper than a technician. He found grooves and cadences that sank in around a beat’s percussion and usually helped gloss over clunker bars (“New kicks give me cushion like whoopie”). His best, most focused rapping comes on songs like “Face in the Crowd,” while the bubbly “Senior Skip Day” gives us a preview of the melody-first approach that he further honed on Swimming and Circles. Despite lazy efforts to compare him to Eminem, K.I.D.S. was far more influenced by charismatic boom bap rappers of the ‘90s. The mixtape is most fruitfully put in conversation with the revivalist stylings of Smoke DZA, Joey Badass, or Blu & Exile.
But what helped K.I.D.S. hit the mainstream was Mac’s ability to rap on tracks sampling skinny jeans indie pop and flips of ‘90s rap classics, even if the latter also got him into an eight-figure lawsuit with Lord Finesse. He was preternaturally confident with an aspirational level of ease. On later releases like Faces and Swimming, Miller reflected on death, heartbreak, and addiction. But back in 2010, he was just your high school classmate who seemed cool-beyond-his-years and able to win over anybody.
Miller followed K.I.D.S. with a few solid mixtapes before his 2011 studio debut, Blue Slide Park, became an indie rap blockbuster and Pitchfork punchline. He spent the next seven years in a creative frenzy, growing as a vocalist, songwriter, and producer with each project and finding kinship with Tyler, the Creator, Thundercat, Anderson .Paak, and dozens of other stars. His tragic passing in 2018 was mourned around the music industry, but we’ve gotten a few terrific and thoughtfully presented projects from his estate.
Mac’s family and longtime industry partners have handled the heartrending responsibility over his musical legacy with incredible care and conscientiousness, deservedly being hailed as a model for these unthinkably tragic but upsettingly common situations.
K.I.D.S. was commercially released in April 2020, and listening to it today takes you right back to the thrill of being a ground-floor Mac Miller fan. “’Bout to be in music stores everywhere, but not yet / They can’t understand my concept,” Mac raps on the mixtape’s biggest hit, “Kool-Aid & Frozen Pizza.” They’re lyrics that signal stardom on the horizon, the final moments the roller coaster ascends before things get really fun. The joy of loving Mac is that those moments kept coming, with plenty of new twists. But none felt quite like K.I.D.S.
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