I tried to approach Mac Miller’s set at Mohawk with an open mind. It was tough – especially after watching one of Miller’s female teenage fans cluelessly bop through Immortal Technique’s horrifying “Dance With The Devil.” When the kids with X’s on their hands are wondering who Freddie Gibbs and Technique are, waiting for Mac Miller to take the stage, it’s tough not to be disheartened.
But I stuck around. I stuck around because that’s what SXSW is about – seeing artists you’ve never seen before, giving people a chance to impress you live, watching shows you wouldn’t buy a ticket for.
This story does not have a happy ending. My dalliance with Mac Miller was short-lived, and I only wish it had been even more brief. Following Technique’s fiery aggression, Miller was an echo of hip hop, Asher Roth light. His verses are hollow, his rhymes juvenile, and his delivery more style than substance. As he let out his faux-girlish laugh for the third time in three songs, I felt the good vibes of the evening receding; rather than letting the fall prey to a weak ending, I took matters into my own hands and turned on my heel. Count me unconverted.
