Madi Diaz Setlist

Hope Less
Ambivalence
Feel Something
Lone Wolf
Same Risk
God Person
Everything Almost
This Is How a Woman Leaves
Why’d You Have to Bring Me Flowers
Heavy Metal
Woman in My Heart
Resentment
Don’t Do Me Good
with Clover County
Fatal Optimist
If Time Does What It’s Supposed To
New Person, Old Place

Tour Dates

Oct 27, 2025 7th St Entry Minneapolis, MN
Nov 13, 2025 Fremont Abbey Arts Center Seattle, WA
Nov 14, 2025 Mississippi Studios Portland, OR
Nov 15, 2025 Biltmore Cabaret Vancouver, BC
Nov 18, 2025 he Independent San Francisco, CA
Nov 20, 2025 Highland Park Ebell Club Los Angeles, CA
Nov 21, 2025 Pappy + Harriet’s Pioneertown, CA

As your Quiet Acoustic Correspondent for Rocktober, I’ve been documenting the smallest, most intimate shows to counterprogram the loudest month in music. But even I didn’t expect Madi Diaz to make the 7th Street Entry smaller than it already is. Half the stage was hidden behind a curtain, reduced to a single chair and a few glowing lamps. It was a scene built for songs, stories, and smiles — an intimate listening room next door to rock royalty.

Clover County, the Georgia-born opener, stepped into that space with only a guitar and a tender voice, wise beyond her (24) years. There’s twang in her melodies, but a wink, too — the knowing nod of someone who knows the score. Between songs, she spun the kind of stories that made me wish the set were twice as long: her Italian dad’s enormous “mafia” Cadillac, a missed connection with a smoldering Minnesotan, the logistical challenge of having a bone missing from her pinky, the borrowed boots that started it all. The crowd adored her. Her sweetest love songs, she said, were “fiction,” though her frustrations and hopes were no doubt shared throughout the crowd.

Then came Madi Diaz, switching guitars, layering in subtle vocal echo effects, and filling the room with coffee-shop clarity — no gimmicks, no filters, just folk-pop purity at conversational volume. “There are so many people here,” she said, marveling at a near-capacity room of maybe 200. Diaz draws on the tradition of the philosophical lyricist, particularly in the selections from her new Fatal Optimist, whose songs carry a defiant bravery. “Overexplaining is a trauma response,” she told us, introducing Time Difference. “Some people can be like ‘oh, they don’t get it, whatever’ — but I will not be misunderstood.”

But another remark — about the message of Fatal Optimist feeling like a challenge to embody, particularly over the last year — summed up the night for me. Diaz can achieve both warmth and ache in her voice, communicating rare truths with a chuckle. Every day we wake up, we can still hope for the best. Even when days keep turning negative, we might still be OK at the end of it. If Time Does What It’s Supposed To and Feel Something felt like shared therapy; This Is How a Woman Leaves, co-written with Maren Morris, turned resignation into triumph.

Diaz’s set ended without pretense. “Encores are silly,” she said, stepping off stage (and out of the spotlight) to the front of the floor, unplugged and unamplified, for New Person, Old Place. The room sang along, the perfect punctuation — a brilliant songwriter, fully present, singing of struggling for reinvention, at arm’s length, no louder than necessary.

Monday was the last show of the Diaz / Clover County leg of the tour. A West Coast leg (Seattle, Portland, Vancouver, San Francisco) starts November 13.