On Friday, Sept. 7, the world lost the voice of a generation. Malcom McCormick, better known as Mac Miller, passed away from an apparent drug overdose at the age of 26.

It was impossible not to have a good time when listening to Miller. His beats were infectious, his wordplay was top-notch, and his personality was almost too relatable for the young ones he preached to.

Starting as an up-and-coming frat rapper, Miller hit the scene in full force, releasing mixtape after mixtape to get his name out around his hometown of Pittsburgh. After catching some breaks and teaming up with his longtime friend Wiz Khalifa, Miller took the world by storm and never slowed down.

In 2010, he broke through with his fourth mixtape, K.I.D.S., and continued this stage of his career with his mixtape Best Day Ever, featuring the smash single “Donald Trump,” and his first official album entitled Blue Slide Park, which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard charts.

What made Miller so special, however, was his commitment to progressing sounds into uncharted territory. Often in the rap genre, and especially in the early 2010s, artists got caught up in the formulaic method of a chart-topper, but not Miller.

In 2013, he released one of my favorite rap albums of all time, Watching Movies with the Sound Off. This album shattered every disposition of Miller as a one-trick-pony and instantly solidified him in the pantheon of greats. The hour-long album features production from industry legends Diplo, Flying Lotus, Tyler the Creator and Pharrell Williams. It was accompanied a year later by his most revered self-produced mixtape, Faces, where he takes his rise to fame to even another level. At this point, many asked where he could go from there.

He had perfected his sound while staying true to his roots. His last two albums, The Divine Feminine and Swimming, proved the doubters wrong one last time. Opting for a more soulful route, Miller went and made two R&B/rap fusion albums revolving thematically around love and despair. The two projects closed off a career that had no barriers, and there is no telling what would have come next.

On top of an iconic discography, Miller was treasured in the music community for his gracious soul and exuberant personality. No one disliked him; he was infectious. Within 24 hours of his passing, Miller got a public outpouring of love from each of the following: Chance the Rapper, J. Cole, Earl Sweatshirt, Pusha T, Post Malone, Future, Kid Cudi, Lil B, Seth Rogen, Snoop Dogg, Nardwuar, Vince Staples and hundreds more in the scene. Who wasn’t he connected to?

There’s not a single bad thing to say about him. Miller was the catalyst for so many to do what they love. As one of the most venerated artists ever, his legacy will surely live on through his contemporaries.

Some of Miller’s most hard-hitting lyrics revolved around addiction and death, and what those may look like. On 2015’s “Brand Name,” he raps: “To everyone who sells me drugs / Don’t mix it with that bulls*** / I’m hoping not to join the 27 club.”

Oftentimes, listening retrospectively is difficult for fans because of the messages they left behind. Words have entirely different meanings based on the context of what happens after the fact. It leaves us thinking: How did we not see this coming? What could we have done? These are unanswerable questions, obviously.

However, rap is in desperate need of an image shift from the current drug culture. The glorification of Opioids and “Benzos” is leading to a terrifying future for the scene and its fans. It needs to change.

To celebrate and admire Miller’s life and many talents, I advise you to watch his NPR Tiny Desk Concert, which was filmed last month. The performance showcases his captivating flow, unexpectedly beautiful singing voice and flawless live arrangements. Finishing his career on that note is bittersweet, but his soul is undoubtedly an everlasting light. May he rest in peace.