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Fatal Optimist

Madi Diaz Fatal Optimist

7.0

  • Genre:

    Folk/Country

  • Label:

    Anti-

  • Reviewed:

    October 22, 2025

Mostly singing alone, accompanied only by her acoustic guitar, the Nashville singer-songwriter places heartache under a microscope on the third LP in a loose trilogy of breakup records.

At the outset of Madi Diaz’s seventh studio album, Fatal Optimist, the emphasis is heavy on the “fatal.” On opener “Hope Less,” the Nashville singer-songwriter’s voice bristles with furious disappointment over the sullen thrum of her guitar, a metallic echo only serving to emphasize her solitude. “You want me to want less/And I wanted to need less,” she belts, on a rough-hewn and bereft chorus. But what she really wants, as the wordplay of the title has it, is to “hope less.”

It’s a gutting introduction to Diaz’s latest record, which is billed as the third in a “heartache trilogy.” It follows her 2021 breakout record History of a Feeling—the one that, despite being her fifth studio album, led to mainstream success and tours with Waxahatchee and Harry Styles—and the 2024 follow-up, Weird Faith. Both mined the chaotic, tender headspace of breakups and new relationships: the rage, the jealousy, the embarrassment, and, most of all, the weird and glorious faith that allows us to make ourselves vulnerable all over again after getting hurt. Fatal Optimist, as its title suggests, revisits similar territory—but this time the landscape is darker, and Diaz cuts a more solitary figure as she traverses it. Writing in the wake of another breakup, Diaz says she wanted Fatal Optimist to sound “as isolated as I was feeling.” Together with co-producer Gabe Wax (Soccer Mommy, Adrianne Lenker), she crafted a starkly intimate palette: for the majority of the record, she sings alone, accompanied only by her acoustic guitar.

This elemental soundscape pushes Diaz’s finely crafted melodies and brutal lyrical observations to the forefront more bluntly than ever. On the jittery “Feel Something,” she wrings every drop of angry pathos from the chorus’s desperate plea to an ex who’s checked out: “You can call me if you feel something.” Elsewhere, on the softer, country-infused ballad “If Time Does What It’s Supposed To,” she falls almost to a whisper, faced with the immoveable finality of loss. These are breakup songs under a microscope, each ragged breath and fatalistic impulse rendered in high definition.

Tucked away at the end of the album is a sigh of relief. Assisted by a full band, the title track releases the claustrophobic grip of the prior 10 songs, shifting into pop-streaked melodies and an upbeat rhythm. Finally, here is the optimism of the title: Diaz’s voice is buttery light and framed with harmonies—no longer alone—as she jokily rolls her eyes at her own eternal idealism in relationships: “Forget I’ve ever been hurt/Forget the reasons why/Forget I’m on Earth/When I start looking at the sky.”

It’s such a precisely crafted three minutes of wry, knowing pleasure that it makes you long for more such variety throughout the record, which can feel at times unrelentingly melancholy. Though Diaz’s songcraft is always piercing, with so much focus placed on guitar-driven ballads that delve into similar themes—such as “Good Liar” and “Why’d You Have to Bring Me Flowers,” which both tell stories of hanging on to a relationship past the point where it hurts—there’s less movement than on her previous two records. What we get, instead, is more intimacy—particularly when Diaz turns the lens on herself.

This is the case with the sweetly forlorn “Heavy Metal,” which, despite winking toward a much louder genre, again isolates Diaz with her slow strumming. Her bruised heart, she sings, is made of a heavy metal; that’s why it’s so resilient. Despite the song’s conceit, she delivers it with an exquisite lightness of touch: While she sings of raging and being tough in the face of grief, her delivery is increasingly delicate. The song seems like the finest distillation of the record’s philosophy—that it takes real softness to know real strength.

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