At first I was reticent about Mac Miller’s confessional treatment of his musical agenda. I sympathized with him like everybody else, but wasn’t sure I’d appreciate a full-on meditation centered on a failed relationship; that was before I gave the album a discernible shot. Going in, I knew that Swimming would sink or swim off the strength of its metaphors, and truth be told: I don’t think I chose the wrong grading system.
Of all the solipsistic records on Swimming, “Jet Fuel” feels like one of the better realized euphemisms, perhaps because the material can be interpreted differently depending on the person. That is not to say Miller wavers far from his subject line, leading you astray into idle territory. “Jet Fuel” is an easy operable, with that under his bedding Mac entertains a 2nd person view imbued with his own biases.
Amid the moving of furniture, Mac Miller still finds moments to reason with his self-worth. Does “good” hip hop hinge on the smallest amount of fearlessness. Perhaps it does, thanks to documents like “Jet Fuel.”
So over there with that bullshit
We don’t need it on this side
I’m pulling up in that new shit
You always whippin’ that dick ride
I demand your respect
I won’t share my connect (no)
Lets get this clear, I am here
I don’t care who got next.
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