For many reasons, it may seem something of a stretch to compare Madi Diaz with Bruce Springsteen, but the timing of the release of ‘Fatal Optimist’ coincidentally comes at a point when the story of Springsteen’s 1982 album, Nebraska, is being revived on film (‘Deliver Me From Nowhere’) and inevitably in the form of a just in time for (Gran)Dad’s Christmas box set.
But the parallels between the two albums are greater than just the obvious stripped-back nature of the music. Like Springsteen in the early 1980s, Diaz is a thirty-something songwriter, well into her career, also coming off the back of her greatest successes to date. Grammy nominations, the critical acclaim afforded her most recent albums, ‘History of a Feeling’ and ‘Weird Faith’, and the recognition that comes from working with Kacey Musgraves and Harry Styles have all contributed to the sense of an artist at the very least, flirting with the mainstream.
Like ‘Nebraska’, ‘Fatal Optimist’ is a largely acoustic album of the somewhat bleak and potentially career-harming variety. For Diaz, the obvious step would have been to make an album filled with radio friendly tunes (of which she has written many for herself and others), big name guest slots and a glossy production. Instead, she has chosen artistic integrity over the eye for the prize, a decision that has paid rich dividends.
It is a sparce and haunting break up album that owes more to early 70s British folk than anything more contemporary: it is more Sandy Denny than Carrie Underwood; more Northumbria than Nashville, the work of a writer following her muse and representing the circumstances that begat it. It chronicles the aftermath of a relationship that breaks down (presumably) when she is on tour, given the references to flights, time differences and long distance calls in amongst her conflicting feelings, self-evaluation and the occasional moment of light. Though introspective and almost exclusively in the first person, it is too knowing and smart to come across as narcissistic.
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Throughout it appears that great care has been given to the running order. Not quite a song cycle, there is nevertheless, a strong narrative arc. Starting an album with a song called ‘Hope Less’ is a bold move, but it ends with the most upbeat (and only fully accompanied) song, ‘Fatal Optimist’, where she stridently asserts ‘I hate being right’.
This outline undersells the contents of Diaz’s third album of the decade, and the journey between the two points is entrancing. The emptiness enhances rather than detracts from the songs and by the second track, ‘Ambivalence’, it is obvious that this a writer at her lyrical and melodic peak.
To succeed with a record that is musically minimalist forces the words and the voice to do much of the heavy lifting, but it is muscular in both departments: ‘Fatal Optimist’ is, despite the content matter, enticing on first listen and a record that yields further dividends with repeated ones. Here her voice has space to breathe in a way does not always on her preceding albums.
A further reward for perseverance comes in the running order as, in a reverse of conventional sequencing wisdom, the final three tracks are arguably the best of the lot, building through ‘Why’d You Have To Bring Me Flowers?’ and ‘Time Difference’ to the still understated crescendo of the title track.
A triumph of less being more and substance over instant gratification, it is intriguing to ponder how ‘Fatal Optimist’ will be viewed four decades hence. A cult classic being revived by obsessives only or reconsidered classic in the body of work of a major artist? It may well be the latter, but regardless, its anti-zeitgeist qualities will ensure it sounds as good then as it does now.
8/10
Words: John Williamson
—
—
For many reasons, it may seem something of a stretch to compare Madi Diaz with Bruce Springsteen, but the timing of the release of ‘Fatal Optimist’ coincidentally comes at a point when the story of Springsteen’s 1982 album, Nebraska, is being revived on film (‘Deliver Me From Nowhere’) and inevitably in the form of a just in time for (Gran)Dad’s Christmas box set.
But the parallels between the two albums are greater than just the obvious stripped-back nature of the music. Like Springsteen in the early 1980s, Diaz is a thirty-something songwriter, well into her career, also coming off the back of her greatest successes to date. Grammy nominations, the critical acclaim afforded her most recent albums, ‘History of a Feeling’ and ‘Weird Faith’, and the recognition that comes from working with Kacey Musgraves and Harry Styles have all contributed to the sense of an artist at the very least, flirting with the mainstream.
Like ‘Nebraska’, ‘Fatal Optimist’ is a largely acoustic album of the somewhat bleak and potentially career-harming variety. For Diaz, the obvious step would have been to make an album filled with radio friendly tunes (of which she has written many for herself and others), big name guest slots and a glossy production. Instead, she has chosen artistic integrity over the eye for the prize, a decision that has paid rich dividends.
It is a sparce and haunting break up album that owes more to early 70s British folk than anything more contemporary: it is more Sandy Denny than Carrie Underwood; more Northumbria than Nashville, the work of a writer following her muse and representing the circumstances that begat it. It chronicles the aftermath of a relationship that breaks down (presumably) when she is on tour, given the references to flights, time differences and long distance calls in amongst her conflicting feelings, self-evaluation and the occasional moment of light. Though introspective and almost exclusively in the first person, it is too knowing and smart to come across as narcissistic.
—
—
Throughout it appears that great care has been given to the running order. Not quite a song cycle, there is nevertheless, a strong narrative arc. Starting an album with a song called ‘Hope Less’ is a bold move, but it ends with the most upbeat (and only fully accompanied) song, ‘Fatal Optimist’, where she stridently asserts ‘I hate being right’.
This outline undersells the contents of Diaz’s third album of the decade, and the journey between the two points is entrancing. The emptiness enhances rather than detracts from the songs and by the second track, ‘Ambivalence’, it is obvious that this a writer at her lyrical and melodic peak.
To succeed with a record that is musically minimalist forces the words and the voice to do much of the heavy lifting, but it is muscular in both departments: ‘Fatal Optimist’ is, despite the content matter, enticing on first listen and a record that yields further dividends with repeated ones. Here her voice has space to breathe in a way does not always on her preceding albums.
A further reward for perseverance comes in the running order as, in a reverse of conventional sequencing wisdom, the final three tracks are arguably the best of the lot, building through ‘Why’d You Have To Bring Me Flowers?’ and ‘Time Difference’ to the still understated crescendo of the title track.
A triumph of less being more and substance over instant gratification, it is intriguing to ponder how ‘Fatal Optimist’ will be viewed four decades hence. A cult classic being revived by obsessives only or reconsidered classic in the body of work of a major artist? It may well be the latter, but regardless, its anti-zeitgeist qualities will ensure it sounds as good then as it does now.
8/10
Words: John Williamson
—
—
For many reasons, it may seem something of a stretch to compare Madi Diaz with Bruce Springsteen, but the timing of the release of ‘Fatal Optimist’ coincidentally comes at a point when the story of Springsteen’s 1982 album, Nebraska, is being revived on film (‘Deliver Me From Nowhere’) and inevitably in the form of a just in time for (Gran)Dad’s Christmas box set.
But the parallels between the two albums are greater than just the obvious stripped-back nature of the music. Like Springsteen in the early 1980s, Diaz is a thirty-something songwriter, well into her career, also coming off the back of her greatest successes to date. Grammy nominations, the critical acclaim afforded her most recent albums, ‘History of a Feeling’ and ‘Weird Faith’, and the recognition that comes from working with Kacey Musgraves and Harry Styles have all contributed to the sense of an artist at the very least, flirting with the mainstream.
Like ‘Nebraska’, ‘Fatal Optimist’ is a largely acoustic album of the somewhat bleak and potentially career-harming variety. For Diaz, the obvious step would have been to make an album filled with radio friendly tunes (of which she has written many for herself and others), big name guest slots and a glossy production. Instead, she has chosen artistic integrity over the eye for the prize, a decision that has paid rich dividends.
It is a sparce and haunting break up album that owes more to early 70s British folk than anything more contemporary: it is more Sandy Denny than Carrie Underwood; more Northumbria than Nashville, the work of a writer following her muse and representing the circumstances that begat it. It chronicles the aftermath of a relationship that breaks down (presumably) when she is on tour, given the references to flights, time differences and long distance calls in amongst her conflicting feelings, self-evaluation and the occasional moment of light. Though introspective and almost exclusively in the first person, it is too knowing and smart to come across as narcissistic.
—
—
Throughout it appears that great care has been given to the running order. Not quite a song cycle, there is nevertheless, a strong narrative arc. Starting an album with a song called ‘Hope Less’ is a bold move, but it ends with the most upbeat (and only fully accompanied) song, ‘Fatal Optimist’, where she stridently asserts ‘I hate being right’.
This outline undersells the contents of Diaz’s third album of the decade, and the journey between the two points is entrancing. The emptiness enhances rather than detracts from the songs and by the second track, ‘Ambivalence’, it is obvious that this a writer at her lyrical and melodic peak.
To succeed with a record that is musically minimalist forces the words and the voice to do much of the heavy lifting, but it is muscular in both departments: ‘Fatal Optimist’ is, despite the content matter, enticing on first listen and a record that yields further dividends with repeated ones. Here her voice has space to breathe in a way does not always on her preceding albums.
A further reward for perseverance comes in the running order as, in a reverse of conventional sequencing wisdom, the final three tracks are arguably the best of the lot, building through ‘Why’d You Have To Bring Me Flowers?’ and ‘Time Difference’ to the still understated crescendo of the title track.
A triumph of less being more and substance over instant gratification, it is intriguing to ponder how ‘Fatal Optimist’ will be viewed four decades hence. A cult classic being revived by obsessives only or reconsidered classic in the body of work of a major artist? It may well be the latter, but regardless, its anti-zeitgeist qualities will ensure it sounds as good then as it does now.
8/10
Words: John Williamson
—
—
For many reasons, it may seem something of a stretch to compare Madi Diaz with Bruce Springsteen, but the timing of the release of ‘Fatal Optimist’ coincidentally comes at a point when the story of Springsteen’s 1982 album, Nebraska, is being revived on film (‘Deliver Me From Nowhere’) and inevitably in the form of a just in time for (Gran)Dad’s Christmas box set.
But the parallels between the two albums are greater than just the obvious stripped-back nature of the music. Like Springsteen in the early 1980s, Diaz is a thirty-something songwriter, well into her career, also coming off the back of her greatest successes to date. Grammy nominations, the critical acclaim afforded her most recent albums, ‘History of a Feeling’ and ‘Weird Faith’, and the recognition that comes from working with Kacey Musgraves and Harry Styles have all contributed to the sense of an artist at the very least, flirting with the mainstream.
Like ‘Nebraska’, ‘Fatal Optimist’ is a largely acoustic album of the somewhat bleak and potentially career-harming variety. For Diaz, the obvious step would have been to make an album filled with radio friendly tunes (of which she has written many for herself and others), big name guest slots and a glossy production. Instead, she has chosen artistic integrity over the eye for the prize, a decision that has paid rich dividends.
It is a sparce and haunting break up album that owes more to early 70s British folk than anything more contemporary: it is more Sandy Denny than Carrie Underwood; more Northumbria than Nashville, the work of a writer following her muse and representing the circumstances that begat it. It chronicles the aftermath of a relationship that breaks down (presumably) when she is on tour, given the references to flights, time differences and long distance calls in amongst her conflicting feelings, self-evaluation and the occasional moment of light. Though introspective and almost exclusively in the first person, it is too knowing and smart to come across as narcissistic.
—
—
Throughout it appears that great care has been given to the running order. Not quite a song cycle, there is nevertheless, a strong narrative arc. Starting an album with a song called ‘Hope Less’ is a bold move, but it ends with the most upbeat (and only fully accompanied) song, ‘Fatal Optimist’, where she stridently asserts ‘I hate being right’.
This outline undersells the contents of Diaz’s third album of the decade, and the journey between the two points is entrancing. The emptiness enhances rather than detracts from the songs and by the second track, ‘Ambivalence’, it is obvious that this a writer at her lyrical and melodic peak.
To succeed with a record that is musically minimalist forces the words and the voice to do much of the heavy lifting, but it is muscular in both departments: ‘Fatal Optimist’ is, despite the content matter, enticing on first listen and a record that yields further dividends with repeated ones. Here her voice has space to breathe in a way does not always on her preceding albums.
A further reward for perseverance comes in the running order as, in a reverse of conventional sequencing wisdom, the final three tracks are arguably the best of the lot, building through ‘Why’d You Have To Bring Me Flowers?’ and ‘Time Difference’ to the still understated crescendo of the title track.
A triumph of less being more and substance over instant gratification, it is intriguing to ponder how ‘Fatal Optimist’ will be viewed four decades hence. A cult classic being revived by obsessives only or reconsidered classic in the body of work of a major artist? It may well be the latter, but regardless, its anti-zeitgeist qualities will ensure it sounds as good then as it does now.
8/10
Words: John Williamson
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