This was the first show for me since the pandemic started, and a great step back into it.
Reckless Grace and Razor Wit: Lizzie No and Sarah Shook and the Disarmers.
On a humid August night in Columbus, the tightly packed Rumba Café—dimly lit, well-worn, and blessed with surprisingly good sound—played host to two artists who know how to turn scars into anthems. Lizzie No and Sarah Shook & the Disarmers delivered more than performances; they offered defiance, resilience, and raw artistry, all crammed into a space where every lyric landed inches from the listener’s ears.
Lizzie No: Sharp-Tongued and Harp-Strung
New York-based singer-songwriter Lizzie No opened the evening with an arresting solo set. With a harp slung like a sidearm and a guitar never far off, she proved herself a genre-hopping lyricist of substance—introspective, sly, and bold in turns. Songs explored Black identity, love, grief, and autonomy, but always with a writer’s ear for the telling detail. One standout line lingered long after her set ended: “The winners write the history books, but the petty bitches write the songs.” It earned knowing laughter and nods from the crowd—truth dressed up in wit.
Her delivery was understated and unshakable. She didn’t need volume to be heard; she offered vulnerability with steel behind it, and the audience quieted themselves to catch every word. Lizzie No doesn’t just play music—she crafts atmosphere, and that night, she transformed a noisy bar into a listening room.
Sarah Shook & the Disarmers: Road-Weary and Resolute
Though not feeling her best after having to reschedule a West Virginia show the night before, Sarah Shook showed up in Columbus with grit, generosity, and unmistakable fire. She was forthright about her health precautions—multiple COVID tests and some understandable concern—before pushing on with the tour. At the door, audience members were asked to wear masks when not drinking, a small accommodation that made it clear: the pandemic is still reshaping the live music experience, and artists like Shook are helping to figure out what comes next.
If she was under the weather, it didn’t show on stage. Shook and the Disarmers tore into their set with fierce conviction, opening with “Heal Me” and rolling straight into “Good as Gold.” Her voice—gravelly, insistent, unmistakably hers—carried the emotional weight of every song like a freight train running on broken track.
New material like “Somebody Else” and “Night Roamer” hinted at deeper emotional texture and restraint, without losing the bite that’s always defined her writing. “Night Roamer,” especially, crackled with restlessness and disconnection—classic Shook themes, but delivered with a slow-burn maturity.
The setlist also leaned on crowd favorites like “Sidelong,” “Over You,” and “Fuck Up,” songs that earned loud singalongs and spilled drinks. By the time they reached “Keep the Home Fires Burnin’,” the room felt unified by something deeper than shared taste. Shook’s music doesn’t flatter the listener—it invites them into the mess.
Small Room, Big Feelings
Rumba Café may be a modest venue, but on this night, it felt like the center of something essential. The intimacy of the space—the low ceilings, the moody lighting, the elbow-to-elbow crowd—only intensified the performances. Everyone made the most of it, from the stage to the back bar.
Lizzie No and Sarah Shook offered two different but equally powerful voices—one poetic and pointed, the other ragged and resolute. Together, they reminded us why we show up to venues like this, even in uncertain times: because music this honest, this human, doesn’t need a big stage. It just needs someone willing to listen.