What Tennessee-based singer Madi Diaz knows about love

A little over a year ago, Madi Diaz lay in bed in an apartment near Dodger Stadium sweating out a gnarly case of COVID-19. The Nashville, Tennessee-based singer and songwriter had traveled to Los Angeles to record the follow-up to her album "Weird Faith," which came out in early 2024 and would go on to earn two Grammy nominations, including one for a beautifully bummed-out duet with her friend Kacey Musgraves. But after three or four days of work in the studio, Diaz became sick just as the Dodgers were battling the Mets in last October's National League Championship Series. "I could literally see the stadium lights — there were drones everywhere and people honking and lighting things on fire," she recalls. "I was just like, Why, LA — why?"

Her suffering in a city she once called home was worth it: "Fatal Optimist," the LP Diaz eventually completed in time to release last month, is one of 2025's most gripping — a bravely stripped-down set of songs about heartbreak and renewal arranged for little more than Diaz's confiding voice and her folky acoustic guitar. In the album's opener, "Hope Less," she wonders how far she might be willing to go to accommodate a lover's neglect; "Good Liar" examines the self-deception necessary to keep putting up with it. Yet Diaz also thinks through the harm she's doled out, as in "Flirting" ("I can't change what happened, the moment was just what it was / Nothing to me, something to you").

And then there's the gutting "Heavy Metal," in which she acknowledges that enduring the pain of a breakup has prepared her to deal with the inevitability of the next one. "This record is me facing myself and going, 'I have to stay in my body for this entire song,’” Diaz, 39, says on a recent afternoon during a return trip to LA. What makes the unguardedness of the music even more remarkable is that "Fatal Optimist" comes more than a decade and a half into a twisty-turny career that might've left Diaz more leathered than she sounds here. Beyond making her own albums — "Fatal Optimist" is her sixth since she moved to Nashville in 2008 — she's written songs for commercials and TV shows and for other artists including Maren Morris and Little Big Town; she's sung backup for Miranda Lambert and Parker McCollum and even played guitar in Harry Styles' band on tour in 2023.

Yet in a tender new song like "Feel Something," about longing to "be someone who doesn't know your middle name," Diaz's singing reveals every bruise. "Music is a life force for Madi," says Bethany Cosentino, the Best Coast front woman who tapped Diaz as a songwriting partner for her 2023 solo album, "Natural Disaster." "She has to do it, and it's so authentic and so real and so raw because it's not coming from this place of 'Well, guess I gotta go make another record.'"

"If she doesn't put those emotions somewhere," Cosentino adds, "I think she'll implode."

Which doesn't mean that putting out a record as vulnerable as "Fatal Optimist" hasn't felt scary.

"I was gonna say it's like the emperor's new clothes," Diaz says with a laugh over coffee in Griffith Park. "But I know I'm not wearing any clothes." Dressed in shorts and a denim shirt, her hair tucked beneath a ball cap, she sits at a picnic table outside a café she liked when she lived in L.A. from 2012 to 2017.

"For a second, I was like, Damn, I wish I'd brought my hiking shoes — could've gone up to the top," she says. "I would absolutely have done that as my masochistic 28-year-old self. Hike in the heat of the day? Let's go."

Diaz points to a couple of touchstones for her LP's bare-bones approach, among them Patty Griffin's "Living With Ghosts" — "a star in Orion's Belt," as she puts it — and "obviously Joni Mitchell's 'Blue,'" she says. "That's just a duh."

Like Mitchell, Diaz achieves a clarity of thought in her songs that only intensifies the heartache; also like Mitchell (not to mention Taylor Swift), she can describe a partner's failings with unsparing precision.

"Some 'I'm sorry's' are so selfish/ And you just act like you can't help it," she sings in "Why'd You Have to Bring Me Flowers," one of a handful of what she jokingly calls "folk diss tracks" on "Fatal Optimist." It goes on: "Bulls— smile, in denial/ We've been circling the block/ We've been in a downward spiral."

"There are definitely a couple songs on this record where I felt apologetic as I was writing it," she says. "Then when I finished it was just like: It had to be done." She grins. "They're tough," she says of her exes. "They'll be fine."

Asked whether any of her songs express her feelings in a way she wasn't capable of doing with the ex in question, she nods.

"I'd say I could get about halfway there in real life," she says. "It's almost like I couldn't finish the thought within the relationship, and that was the signal that we couldn't go onward. Or that I couldn't go onward."

Has writing about love taught her anything about herself and what she wants?

"I travel a lot — I'm all over the place," she says. "And I really like to come and go as I please. But it's funny: In retrospect, I think maybe I was chasing a relationship that was a little more traditional, even though I don't know if I can actually be that way. So that's a weird thing to be aware of."