Jackson Browne's son Ethan dead at age 52

In the world of rock 'n' roll, where anthems of love, loss, and the open road have long defined the Browne family sound, a profound silence has fallen. Ethan Zane Browne—the eldest son of legendary singer-songwriter Jackson Browne and the late model Phyllis Major—has died at the age of 52. The news, shared via a somber statement on Jackson's social media on Wednesday, hit like a late-night ballad, raw and unfiltered, echoing the very themes that have woven through his father's decades-spanning catalog.

"It is with deep sorrow that we share that on the morning of November 25, 2025, Ethan Browne, the son of Jackson Browne and Phyllis Major, was found unresponsive in his home and has passed away," read the post, which offered no further details on the cause of death. The Los Angeles County Medical Examiner's office has deferred its findings pending investigation, leaving fans and family alike in a haze of grief. "We ask for privacy and respect for the family during this difficult time," the statement concluded, a plea as understated as the folk-rock introspection that has been Jackson's hallmark.

Ethan, born on November 2, 1973, in the sun-soaked haze of Los Angeles, entered the spotlight almost from the cradle—quite literally. Just six months old, he graced the cover of Rolling Stone in 1974, cradled in his father's arms in a tender, nuzzling embrace that captured the innocence of new fatherhood amid Jackson's meteoric rise. Inside the issue, a 26-year-old Browne opened up about the joys and juggernaut of balancing diapers with demos: "I wanted a baby ’cause I wanted to be a baby. I play with [Ethan] all the time; there’s something pure about it." That image, frozen in time, became an emblem of the personal poetry that fueled hits like "Take It Easy" (co-written for the Eagles) and Jackson's own aching "Somebody’s Baby." Little did anyone know then how those early notes of vulnerability would resonate through a life marked by both harmony and heartache.

Tragedy shadowed Ethan's early years with a cruelty that no nursery rhyme could soften. In 1976, when he was just two, his mother Phyllis Major—Jackson's first wife, a striking actress and model known for her role in the gritty 1973 film The Candy Snatchers—died by suicide at age 30. The loss, which Jackson later channeled into haunting tracks like "Ready or Not," "Sleep’s Dark," and "Silent Gate," thrust the young widower into single parenthood. "I only had two things that I hoped I could fit together: being a songwriter and a father," Jackson reflected in a 2021 Route magazine interview, his voice steady but laced with the weight of those improvised years. "And I looked at it like this: if I have to only be a father, I hope I’ll know it, and just do that." Ethan, in turn, became the anchor, a "main focus" amid the whirlwind of tours, Grammys (eight nominations and counting for Dad), and the Laurel Canyon scene that birthed icons.

Yet Ethan carved his own groove, blending the artistic bloodline with a multifaceted flair that spanned screens, runways, and stages. A model in the '90s and '00s, he strutted for visionaries like Isaac Mizrahi, his chiseled features lending an effortless cool to fashion spreads and commercials. Behind the lens, he moonlighted as a photographer, capturing the unguarded moments that mirrored his father's lyrical eye. Acting beckoned too: Ethan popped up in the cyber-thriller Hackers (1995), rubbing digital shoulders with Angelina Jolie and Jonny Lee Miller, and stole scenes in the heartwarming Raising Helen (2004) alongside Kate Hudson. TV gigs followed, including a 2002 stint on The WB's Birds of Prey, where he flexed his charisma in a world of capes and quips.

Music, though, was the Browne birthright Ethan claimed most fiercely. As a DJ and musician, he spun sets that fused indie edges with soulful undercurrents, but it was his 2022 collaboration with Cat Colbert under the moniker Alain Zane that truly struck a chord. Their album Right Before Your Eyes dropped like a hidden gem in a vinyl crate—intimate, introspective tracks like "CA State of Mind" and "Kite" evoking sun-drenched drives down the Pacific Coast Highway, with Ethan's vocals carrying a husky warmth that nodded to Jackson's timeless timbre. "He's a great father. He's a great son, a great man," Jackson beamed in a 2022 chat, pride swelling as he watched Ethan with his own kids. "When I see him in his movies, modeling, with his daughter, and being such a great dad, it makes me very proud." Fatherhood, it seemed, had come full circle, a quiet redemption in a lineage touched by sorrow.

The Browne men shared more than genes; they shared spotlights, from red-carpet struts—like the 1992 Batman Returns premiere where a teenage Ethan beamed beside his dad—to quieter bonds forged in studios and on sets. Jackson, now 77, remarried model Lynne Sweeney in 1981, welcoming son Ryan (himself a musician who backed his old man on tours and records) in 1982. But Ethan remained the first chapter, the one etched deepest in the family lore.

As tributes pour in from the music world—expect ripples from fellow travelers like Bonnie Raitt or Linda Ronstadt, who've long orbited Jackson's orbit—the void feels vast. Ethan's passing, so sudden and shrouded, underscores the fragility beneath the footlights, a reminder that even the most eloquent songwriters can't script every verse. For now, the Browne legacy pauses, not on a major chord, but on the soft, unresolved strum of farewell. In the words of Jackson's own "Fountain of Sorrow," we'll hold onto the echoes: the laughter on that Rolling Stone cover, the beats he dropped, the life he lived with unapologetic rhythm. Rest in melody, Ethan. The stage lights dim, but your groove lingers.