We've Heard "Good News" Before
It could’ve been in a disgusting kitchen, or a stairwell, or a questionably clean couch, but we’ve heard it before – we’ve heard “Good News”. The air is filled with smoke, fumes of bready beer attached themselves to individuals, and the music is so loud that there’s a vague requirement to come up for air. It was in those moments, the ones in which we search for a pocket of solace, that “Good News” rang in our ears.
Mac Miller’s posthumous record “Good News” was released on January 9th 2020 and souls around the world were warmed and pained.
There’s an ease to the song that enables the listener to feel welcomed immediately. The melodic base of the tune that he raps on top of is the invitation into his space; the couch, the kitchen, the stairwell. The conversation starts from there, and his poetry hits the listener with nostalgia to both Mac himself and feelings many have felt: depression, burnout, and the vices that accompany.
“Well, it ain't that bad. It could always be worse. I'm running out of gas, hardly anything left, hope I make it home from work. Well, so tired of being so tired. Why I gotta build something beautiful just to go set it on fire?”
The fact that he starts the stanza with “it ain’t that bad” is what really sparks this idea of a conversation. It’s a casual way of complaining about something real in a way that doesn’t incite concern from the other person, it is the lyrical representation of the melody.
As a whole, the song is full of hidden stress, as is the conversation he’s having with us. The stress of trying to please, have things figured out, and trying to make everyone else more comfortable with the human existence by bringing forward only what is positive.
But, as he says, he can handle it, “it ain’t that bad.” Those four words are exactly the moment two people look at each other as they lean against the fridge, the doorframe, the stained pillow, and acknowledge the difficulty that is life itself but that for right now, it’ll be okay.
These conversations happen within a party and they’re quickly whisked away and replaced with laughter. The only souvenir from the trip is a bond of empathetic nature.
More can be read into this piece of course. The lyrics play with an idea of leaving, and it’s painful to think of what that could’ve meant to him in his writing, and the song resolves that there’s a level of hope of staying and leaving. But, for now, I’ll take it and I suggest you do as well, as a moment of recognition.
His music was always very open in nature, like he was inviting you in. As an artist, he always seemed like someone you would have one of these conversations with. He gave us the opportunity to have one, whenever we need it, or want it, or don’t expect it.
