The Weekly Coos

Madi Diaz’s illustrious vocals and meticulously crafted writing have always been a defining aspect of her artistry, bringing a sense of bewilderment as she rarely opts for the glitz and glamour of superfluous productions to make sure her words get heard. It’s been a resounding connecting point that has attracted me to her music since her last album, History of a Feeling, notably because it asks us to sit back and listen to her vocals play the lead to the rest of the other instrumentations. With her new album, Weird Faith, Diaz digs deeper into her musical bag to waver through these varying complexions of indie pop, indie rock, and indie folk, all without hampering the transitional smoothness of the tracks as you maneuver through this journey of reflections. The more I played it, the more I kept returning because her voice was enchanting, her melodies were enriching and catchy, and the strings delicate, giving it gracious flows. It’s an album that can get lost with some mild homogenous complexions, but when it all clicks, you reel back and allow her tender voice to elevate you to a musical cloud nine.

Immediately, Madi Diaz delves into the confines of her emotional core while playing with sounds beautifully. It maneuvers these different flows and tempos that harness its strengths and show us where Diaz wants to go outside the spectrum of its more broken-down production. After the first song, “Same Risk,” which is a more stripped-down acoustic construction, it switches gear into these indie-pop/rock hybrids that flourish under the guise of her luminous vocals. Much of what she uncovers are themes/reflections on love, relationships, and her battle with faith and the humanistic teachings it gives. When it comes to the former two, she looks at different angles than just the delusion of happiness—with “Everything Almost,” she laments how her lack of awareness within a relationship, with “Girlfriend” is this messy reflection of a reminder about Diaz and her ex aren’t together, despite her reservations on returning. How she delivers them adds this unique touch that shifts them away from being ballads to more kaleidoscopic pop. As she continues to tread more toward acoustics later in the album, she does diverge back into these livelier notes, but as potent as the production is, it’s all about her writing and how she delivers her themes.

In a way, Madi Diaz is using this to get to know her better, so “Get To Know Me” comes as the fifth track of the album—setting up these conflicting emotions she has with love and herself previously, this adds definition to it, especially giving it a much-needed focus that opens the door further into her person. Through the rest of the album, you hear her questioning her faith and convictions and exploring how these emotions have significant representation than what she believes is on the surface. It gives the music an edge to get through the hump of the mild modest homogeny that can be tiresome, but she eventually kicks it back up by adding some more intrigue in the last third. As I commend the writing, Madi Diaz didn’t write all these songs by herself, as the flutter of words has these captivating melodies and harmonies. With “God Person,” you notice the sobering and slow meditation that sees Madi focusing on faith and where she looks for God’s vision in everything she sees, albeit with skepticism. Some of her cowriters have a history of working around a humanization of emotions and allowing them to come with sheer connectivity.

Those notions are reminiscent in a few tracks; however, it’s when it begins to tread into familiarity with the acoustics that there is a small part of you that yearns for a little more as sometimes having too stripped-down shifts the balance and puts more weight on Madi Diaz’s writing and vocals. Fortunately, it’s a resounding impact that carries you from beginning to end, especially when you break down the intricate themes she chooses to focus on, like faith in “God Person” or unbalanced thoughts perpetuated through the crass game of fuck, marry, kill, and finding balance on how to feel because of all these clashing emotions depending on the situation. In essence, it beautifully establishes the reality of relationships without trying to find ways to coat it beneath the verbose diatribe we usually get from the more poppy singer-songwriters, like post-debut Norah Jones or later albums by Wild Child. She establishes herself beautifully within the confines of the album’s direction, but when it comes to the acoustics, a small part of you may wish for a little more; however, you accept the artist’s direction and is it comes, you get drenched in fantastic music.

Kacey Musgraves makes an elegant and sobering appearance on the album, stamping a sense of whimsy to the fray and giving us something to remember. Her presence alongside Madi Diaz on the song “Don’t Do Me Good” adds ample depth to the themes surrounding love in a relationship, and here, it’s about the will to keep waking up in a relationship despite knowing it won’t get better. As Diaz would note in an interview with Pitchfork, “This song is about that person that we keep coming back to, no matter how many times they let us down…waking up every day and making the choice to love a person unconditionally while it’s simultaneously getting harder and harder to ignore that nothing is getting better in the relationship.” Musgraves’ presence adds more experience to the notion and establishes this lovely budding dual-ship that elevates the craft further without pushing each other away from its centralized core. That latter aspect is what I love the most about Weird Faith and something I know you’ll get out of, too. I loved how honed in the vocals are to demand attention, and gosh darn it, it got mine. I hope it gets you, too.