Rett Madison’s new album, One for Jackie, is a tribute to her mom, who passed by suicide in 2019, leaving her only child with an unbearable sense of responsibility to understand her mother better as she mourned her. “My mom struggled with depression, PTSD, and alcoholism all my life, but her death was shocking and unexpected,” Madison says. “Writing this album, I was moving through grief; it was part of my healing process.” 

That willingness to let listeners into the most painful, intimate moments of her life is par for the course with Madison. Her cooly defiant debut, Pin-Up Daddy, deals with themes of queerness, religious trauma, and shame, all while being, at its core, an Americana album. Raised in West Virginia, Madison had moved to Los Angeles to pursue songwriting, where she landed gigs singing background vocals for artists like Lorde and Kate Nash. Pin-Up Daddy established Madison as an artist in her own right, leading her to sign with War Buddha, a Nashville-based joint venture with Warner Records, as their debut artist. Since then, she’s opened for Sheryl Crow, Melissa Etheridge, Elle King, and more, bringing her distinctive take on Americana to a widening fanbase.

On One for Jackie, Madison distills the weeks and months following her mother’s death, drawing inspiration from the storytelling she admires in Appalachian folks traditions, the ‘70s output of Bob Dylan and Dusty Springfield, as well as the music her mother raised her on. “Her taste shaped me as a musician, and while this album honors my grief, it’s also a memorial to my mom,” she says. “I wanted to emulate the music she loved, and for this album to be something she’d love to listen to. I kept asking myself: ‘What would my mom think is cool?’” 

Beyond borrowing from the past, One for Jackie cements itself as a modern American classic, for fans of acts like Angel Olsen, Phoebe Bridgers, and Brandi Carlile. While Madison describes Pin-Up Daddy as a collection of songs she’d sporadically written between the ages of 19 and 21, without a single underlying narrative tying the tracks together, One for Jackie is a story best heard front to back, preferably played loud. Recorded in Tornillo, TX at the storied Sonic Ranch and produced by the Grammy Award-winning Tyler Chester, One for Jackie  further elevates Madison’s dextrous musicianship, while her singular voice commands a room from the outset on opening piano ballad “Jacqueline,” when she intones her mother’s name over a sinewy string arrangement, but only after singing: “I’m just pissed off and bitter I couldn’t save my mother/ I’m grappling with what I’ve got left.” 

Madison’s lyrics are at once gutting, openhearted, and wry, giving listeners a multifaceted look at the irreducible process of grieving such immense loss. “Everyone in the studio could relate to my story, in some way,” Madison says. As a result, the collaboration between Madison, Chester, and an assortment of studio musicians creates a seamless vision, as Madison’s already exceptional guitar and piano playing are joined by synths, assorted percussion instruments, strings, organ, mournful slide guitar, and more. The guilt of having lost a parent to suicide, and not being able to prevent that death, haunted Madison. “My lyrics are pretty confessional and straightforward,” she says. “I want these songs to find people who have been in this situation and need to be reminded that it’s not their fault, and it’s normal to have conflicting feelings. I was heartbroken, guilt-ridden, but I was also angry, and that rage comes through on this album, too.” There’s another emotion clearly felt on this album: love. In the months following Jackie’s death, Madison fell for her partner, whose steadfast presence cradled her while she grieved. The stunning “Ballet” would fit comfortably on a Fleetwood Mac-inspired playlist, an ode to young love so immediately stirring that it’ll make you wish it was about you.

Unattended mental illness and addiction troubled the relationship between Madison and her mother, yet a source of Jackie’s suffering was never made clear to her daughter. Though Madison left the Catholic church she was raised in, she’s still deeply spiritual, and some time after her mother’s funeral had a creeping feeling that someone had hurt Jackie in childhood. After a series of events that involved a medium, a paranormal experience, and an unnerving conversation with a family friend, Madison obtained her mother’s records from a stint in rehab. When she read them, she learned her mother had been sexually abused as a kid. “Learning my mom was a survivor after her death changed things,” Madison said. “I wished I could’ve protected her.”

Madison wrote two murder ballads about the revelations. “One for Jackie, One for Crystal,” is a tale of vengeance wherein Madison murders the man who abused her mom, while “St. Luke’s” imagines him at the church during Jackie’s service. “Gonna make him pay for everyday he’s ever laid a hand on you/ He’s named after a saint, but yet he pins the blame on a kid too young to know what to do,” Madison sings, before the equal parts angelic and eerie chorus kicks in. Congas, discordant percussive beats, and erratic strings make the listener uneasy, mirroring the discomfort of the song’s subject matter. The bridge is a full-throated scream as Madison breaks the song’s quiet tension, revealing her unbridled rage.  

Storytelling is a part of Madison’s cultural inheritance, and throughout One for Jackie, she openly takes on the perspective of others, imagining herself into moments she never experienced firsthand. “How it All Began” sounds off to early Springsteen, as Madison envisions Jackie’s young adulthood, while the album’s spare and heartrending acoustic closer finds Jackie speaking directly to her daughter, who she called “Kiki.” Iron & Wine sings, echoed by Madison’s guitar playing, and together they offer Kiki reassurance: “Sweetie, you were my life and my reason/ I lived 84 more seasons.” Since Jackie passed suddenly, Madison felt she didn’t have a sense of closure, so she wrote the song imagining what her mom would say to her now. “Again, I’m a hippie,” Madison says, laughing. “I don’t feel it’s too far off from something she would’ve told me.” 

One for Jackie gives the listener an uncannily similar sense of knowingness, as if immersing ourselves in Madison’s grief, in her memories, allows us to know a little bit of Jackie, too. This is a testament to Madison’s lyricism; she is specific, exacting, and wise even in her most unguarded moments. On “Flea Market,” an encounter with a gaudy leopard print ensemble leaves her in tears, and later, on “Mediums, Therapists, and Sheriffs” the listener learns Jackie wore leopard print to her grave. That continuity between songs offers us a portrait of a woman in all of her glory and complexity. In death, we tend to flatten people, turn them saintly and pure and faultless, but One for Jackie does something better: it brings her to life.