Only 26 years old, it’s already felt like Mac Miller has been around for two lifetimes. On Swimming, you can tell he feels the same way. Where he was once a giddy faux- prodigy who made college frat-boys jizz in their pants, these days he sounds like a burnt-out child actor – think Robert Pattinson after his eighth Twilight film. Swimming sounds like his attempt to admit that it’s OK that he’s not OK. To anyone who’s ever felt like they don’t have a grip on life, they’ll be able to relate. In these moments, he creates an album that’s weirdly poignant and oddly beautiful.

It’s hard to listen to Swimming without thinking of Miller’s highly-publicised breakup with Ariana Grande. You’d imagine that her recent engagement to SNL cast-member (and Miller look-a-like) Pete Davidson probably hasn’t been too fun for him either. It doesn’t matter how famous or rich you are, if you’ve ever experienced heartbreak and then watched the other person seem infinitely happier than you in the aftermath, you’ll understand the breathlessness in his voice. It feels like every second line can be traced back to that relationship. It can be a painful listen at times.

But Swimming feels like he’s starting to come out the other side, dealing more in eyes-closed acceptance than any sort of guttural remorse. It starts beautifully. ‘Come Back To Earth’ perfectly encapsulates that post-heartbreak feeling of helplessness; Miller croons elegantly over subtle keys and a light bass guitar (unsurprisingly produced by the legendary Jon Brion – Brion’s fingerprints are all over this album) with sharply relatable lyrics (“I just need a way out, of my head/I’ll do anything for a way out, of my head”). It’s the sort of intro that could soundtrack a sunrise – knowing the new day is coming, whether you’re ready or not.

Accepting your own life – all its faults and imperfections – is a thread through this album. Some of it is slightly reminiscent of Earl Sweatshirt’s work on I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Miller frequently whispers about wanting to be away from open space, and he’s never seemed as disinterested in fame and fortune as he does here (“let’s go back to my crib and play some 45’s/it’s safer there I know there’s still a war outside”). Like Sweatshirt, it feels like it all came to him too quickly, and now he’s desperate to go underground.

There are occasional jolts of life in the album though. The only out-and-out crowd-pleasing rap track is the J.Cole-produced ‘Hurt Feelings’ (in fact, the beat sounds like it might have just been an off-cut from Cole’s K.O.D.). In recent years – particularly after his 2014 mixtape Faces – Miller’s often gravitated towards more jazzier, soulful rifts. ‘What’s The Use?’ and ‘Ladders’ satisfy that quota. ‘Ladders’ in particular, has a spacey intro before evolving into a dance track, and then spinning back to a chorus of trumpets and plucky electric guitars.

Those zippier songs do overshadow some of the weaker and more introspective middle tracks like ‘Wings’, ‘Small Worlds’ and ‘Conversation Pt. 1’. The transitions are jarring, and it can feel at times like you’re listening to Miller ramble on his own thoughts after his third bong hit even if the tracks themselves aren’t terrible. Part of the problem here is that, apart from the glorious intro, no track on the album clocks less than three-and-a-half minutes. The aforementioned tracks meander in sludgier, downtrodden beats for a bit too long.

But Swimming soars to a golden cathartic finish. Its final two tracks are two of its best. ‘2009’ comes first, produced elegantly by Eric G, featuring a minute-long Disney-esque classic intro before a soft piano and chipmunk-soul soundbite dawdle on the rest of the track. Miller sounds like a true veteran, reminiscing about his meteoric career rise and his newfound confidence (“I ain’t asking “Why” no more, oh no I take it if it’s mine, I don’t stay inside the lines”). “So It Goes” is a beautiful closer co-produced by Miller and Brion. It starts with junky guitars but evolves near the end with upwards-spiralling synths drowning out Miller before the final minute explodes. It’s as if, without any words, he’s letting everyone know – “I’ll be fine”.

But one song, coming just before those two, is unmatched in its beauty. ‘Dunno’ features a barely-there beat produced by Parson Brown – it’s all Mac. It’s the one track that feels like it’s explicitly and only about Ariana Grande. Whereas elsewhere on the album he can fall into the trap of rapping in empty platitudes, he’s full of detail about their relationship here (“you was coughin’ when you hit my weed/but I’ve never seen you feel that free/so cute, you wanna be like me”). The hook is gorgeously sung and always sad (“until, until there is no longer/let’s get lost inside the clouds/and you, you don’t gotta work harder/I can calm you down”). It’s the one moment on the album where Mac still feels like he’s holding on to better times – he talks about the relationship as if there’s still a chance, as if in his mind they’re still together. You feel for him.

And if you’ve ever had your heart broke you’ll appreciate its gut-wrenching outro. As the beat slowly bubbles and rises and Mac’s voice cracks, you can make out what he’s saying in its rawness (“I think we just might be alright, thank God/I think we’re gonna be alright… /hold me close don’t hold your breath/that’s really your favourite, I know”). It’s a cruelly human moment, and a cruelly human emotion. He’s not OK, but anyone who knows his feeling will know one thing – give it some time.

7.9