Falling in love can be beautiful, but isn’t it kind of absurd and mortifying, too? This paradox is at the heart of Weird Faith, the new album from Nashville singer and songwriter Madi Diaz. She approaches it with an impeccable sense of melody and a series of potent questions, the kind that run like a third rail underneath a new relationship’s honeymoon phase (and, often, its decline): “Do you think this could ruin your life?” “How well do you wanna get to know me?” “Is it hard to love me?”
Diaz got her biggest break as a solo artist a couple years ago, after releasing 2021’s stellar History of a Feeling. But her resume runs much deeper: A Berklee dropout, she moved to Nashville, then L.A., then back to Nashville to work as a songwriter, contributing to tracks for artists like Kesha and Little Big Town and writing music for soundtracks and commercials. All the while, she was writing and recording solo albums that struggled to find their footing. History of a Feeling kickstarted a dramatic shift in her trajectory. That record documented the end of a long-term relationship, which coincided with the start of her ex-partner’s gender transition—a complex, nuanced denouement that she captured in perceptive, charged, and occasionally excruciating folk-tinged indie-rock songs. From there, things took off: her first solo tour in almost a decade, TV bookings, and tours opening for indie icons (Waxahatchee, Angel Olsen) and even a pop megastar (Harry Styles, whose touring band she briefly joined).
Though Diaz has played for stadium-sized crowds, Weird Faith is not a record of bright lights and pyrotechnics, but a document of particular, personal idiosyncrasies—like a domestic fantasy that ends with death on the swooning “Kiss the Wall,” or the way she turns every teenager’s favorite lewd party game into an ode to complicated coexistence on “KFM.” Her lyrics dig into details, zeroing into some particularly strange moments in relationships: the weirdness of continually running into your partner’s ex (“Girlfriend”); the painful middle of a slowly fizzling romance (“For Months Now”). Diaz doesn’t veer much from the straightforward production that marked History of a Feeling, but she knows how to add layers of sound to inject a little catharsis, like the brief, fuzzy squall in “Kiss the Wall” or the kaleidoscopic overlay of voices towards the end of “God Person.”
Diaz’s voice is resonant and emotionally rich—sometimes pleading, sometimes dejected, sometimes a gentle whisper and occasionally a powerful belt—and her ear for melody is exquisite, filling her songs with crisp, memorable hooks. This combination helps make even her broadest gestures, like the waltzing breakup ballad “Don’t Do Me Good,” a duet with Kacey Musgraves, feel lived-in but not overworked. This is particularly true of the moving title track, cowritten with Americana stalwart Lori McKenna. It’s an ode to continuing to believe—not just through the awkward beginning of love but also through the trials and heartbreak that can follow—that vulnerability is worth the risk. This theme could land Diaz in Hallmark-card territory, but the song’s intimacy and restraint—just Diaz’s warm and weary voice and an acoustic guitar—make it instead feel like a gentle pep talk from an older sister. Hoping for love after getting burned a few times can be absurd and mortifying in its own way; here, Diaz makes a compelling case for it anyway.
