#sarah shook & the disarmers

[cantsayidont]

Six songs for the "I hate country, it's all right-wing dudes who drive pickup trucks!" crowd, in chronological order:

k.d. lang, "Lock, Stock and Teardrops" (SHADOWLAND/Sire Records/1988): The apotheosis of k.d. lang's youthful obsession with Patsy Cline, an old Roger Miller song lushly produced in Nashville by famed country producer Owen Bradley.

Emmylou Harris, "Waltz Across Texas Tonight" (WRECKING BALL/Elektra/Asylum Records, 1995): '70s country star Emmylou Harris co-wrote this song with Rodney Crowell as the intensely wistful climax of her mind-altering 1995 album with producer Danny Lanois.

Neko Case, "Fox Confessor Brings the Flood" (FOX CONFESSOR BRINGS THE FLOOD, ANTI-, 2006): Apocalyptic title track of alt country heroine Neko Case's best album to date. "It's not for you to know / But for you to weep and wonder / When the death of your civilization proceeds you"

Rosanne Cash, "Black Cadillac" (BLACK CADILLAC, Capitol Records, 2006): Cash's valedictory for her late father Johnny Cash, the title track of an album about wrestling with the loss of her father, her mother, and her stepmother in the early '00s. Devastating.

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers, "Dwight Yoakam" (SIDELONG, Bloodshot Records, 2015): NB country singer River Shook's twangy drinkin' and depressin' ballad about drowning their sorrows after their girlfriend left them for a guy she met at a country bar.

Karen & The Sorrows: "Guaranteed Broken Heart" (GUARANTEED BROKEN HEART, Ocean Born Mary, 2019): Title track of queer Jewish country queen Karen Pittelman's 2019 album wouldn't be out of place on a Dolly Parton album of the '70s except that the gay content isn't just subtext.

[dustedmagazine]

Sarah Shook and the Disarmers — Revelations (Abeyance/Thirty Tigers)

Photo by Brett Villena

“I built my life on the edge of a knife when nobody believed that I could,” rasps River Shook, the tough but tender leader of this kicking cowpunk band. The song is “You Don’t Get to Tell Me How to Feel,” a boot-stomping statement of purpose, as the guitars flare,  the drums bolt upright like a scared horse, and Shook makes the case for constructing their own narrative in no uncertain terms. 

Shook came of age in Bible belt America, forbidden as a child from any contact with secular music.  Still these things have a way of back-ending.  The artist learned the piano, then the guitar, then formed a series of bands under their birthname Sarah Shook; they switched to River a few years ago as a personal identifier but continue to record under the old name.  Their music, however, remains sharp and unsentimental, punk in energy, country in its twang and sway.  Move over Beyoncé, you’re not the only one pushing out the boundaries of what Americana can represent. 

And so, Shook delivers gender inclusive busted romances in old-school juke joint style. Pedal steel flies through the jangling twang of “Backsliders” while an in-the-pocket country band keeps two-stepping time.  There’s a cheating partner and a wounded one, just like in all the old songs, but the trick is neither one is a dude.  “I’m a real piece of shit and you’re a vixen in a dress/I thought we was moving on/I was wrong I guess,” Shook cracks, out of the corner of their mouth, like Johnny Cash but different. 

The very real pleasure of this collection of songs comes in how the love of tradition collides with raucous rule-breaking energy.  You’ve got your outlaw country, sure, but did any of those guys write a song called “Motherfucker” and carry it off?  Shook does.   

Not every song stomps.  Some are plaintive and yearning, like the lovely “Jane Doe,” others full of anthemic slow-rocking swirl like “Nightingale.”  But all insist on direct emotional engagement and brutal honesty and acceptance of a very specific point of view.  River Shook is definitely not your grandma’s idea of a country powerhouse, but they are one all the same.   

Jennifer Kelly

[femmchantress]

I’ve been on a queer country kick all day

[moocowmoocow]

It’s always only just one more I don’t know what I leave the light on for Nothin’ feels right but doin’ wrong anymore

[krispyweiss]

Flat Duo Jets Founder Dexter Romweber Dies at 57

- “He wasn’t a rock ‘n’ roll musician, he WAS rock ‘n’ roll inside and out,” Jack White says

Dexter Romweber, the co-founder and leader of North Carolina’s Flat Duo Jets, died Feb. 16 of apparent natural causes, his family said.

Romweber was 57 and his family remembered him as a “singer, guitarist, artist and bon vivant … one of the most acclaimed artists of the roots-rock underground.”

Jack White concurred.

“He wasn’t a rock ‘n’ roll musician, he WAS rock ‘n’ roll inside and out, without even having to try, he couldn’t help himself,” White said in a statement.

“People toss that around a lot, but in Dex’s case it was actually true. To call him punk would be like calling the Great Pyramid a sand castle.”

Sarah Shook eulogized Romweber as a singular “iconoclast” with “an intrinsic understanding of the essence of rock ‘n’ roll and a mind for music nobody else could fathom much less replicate.”

Romweber made more than one-dozen album between the Jets and subsequent musical pairings. His most recent solo album, Good Thing Goin’, arrived in 2023.

Romweber was “responsible for me playing guitar,” Cat Power said.

“I cannot comprehend a world without you, Dexter,” she wrote on social media.

2/18/24

[technofinch]

everytime one of you mentions sarah snook (succession girlboss i think?) i think you're talking about sarah shook (epic nonbinary country singer)

[motherofsideblogs]

Drinkin' water tonight 'cause I drank all the whiskey this morning

[sinceileftyoublog]

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers Live Preview: 8/15, Robert's Westside, Forest Park

Photo by Jillian Clark

BY JORDAN MAINZER

For Sarah Shook & The Disarmers, Revelations (Abeyance) is, as its title suggests, an album about clarity. Though River Shook had publicly come out as nonbinary before the release of 2022's Nightroamer, their fourth album with longtime band The Disarmers is their first wholly born out of two other weights off their chest: Shook's journey to sobriety and dealing with diagnoses of ADHD and borderline autism spectrum disorder. The output is not necessarily an album about any of that as it is Shook's most empathetic record to date, a result of exercises in songwriting as the means to embrace oneself and others.

Revelations succeeds because its exclaims are simple, as direct as, "We don't need no god to feed each other good" on country rocker "You Don't Get To Tell Me", an argument for each life's inherent value. Sure, there's bad in Shook's world, from the ex who'll be "six circles deeper" in hell than them, or the domestic abuser on "Jane Doe", but Shook spends most of their time focusing on the person on the other end, overcoming despite it all. The haze of Blake Tallent's guitar and thuds of Jack Foster's toms emulate the "black cloud following me around" on the title track, the heavy head of clinical depression in a world subsumed by religion and capitalism. Nevertheless, Shook persists: "I'm done listenin' when the old guard tells me what my word is worth." "I built my life on the edge of a knife when nobody believed that I could," they sing on "You Don't Get To Tell Me".

Further, on "Dogbane", Shook posits that there is growth in the burning. Over a rollicking beat and sprinkled guitars, they sing, "Well it's lookin' like the end of days / If it ain't underwater, it's ablaze / And we got hope and heartache in each gaze." They look back at times of thriving in, or despite, chaos, hooking up on "Backsliders", leaving their ex on "Motherfucker". "When I die and split hell wide, gonna be some sight to see," Shook claims on the latter. Acoustic guitars and Nick Larimore's pedal steel complement Shook's nasal twang that momentarily becomes a yodel when they sing, "Sick to death of you," the very showy moment they promise in the song. Shook's always been an expert presenter of the high and lonesome in classic country, whether through their vocal performance or the versatility and expansiveness of The Disarmers. Revelations is their first album on which the very existence of its songs is a paean to survival.

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers headline Robert's Westside tomorrow night. Local singer-songwriter and Sad Cowgirl of Chicago, Reilly Downes & The Acid Cowboys open. Doors open at 6:30 PM, Downes goes on at 8, and Shook goes on at 9. General admission tickets still available at time of publication.

[musiconspotify]

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers - Revelations (2024) … fine album …

[freqsho]

SXSW 2023—FREQShots: Day Five [Saturday, 3/18/2023]

By Ben Cooper

Gypsy Mitchell @ C-Boys Heart & Soul

Tamzene @ Cedar Street Courtyard

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers @ C-Boys Heart & Soul

Geexella @ Swan Dive

[foolsnonsense]

why do the gays want taylor swift so badly we already have a they/them with a mullet swilling whiskey and singing about how a cowboy stole their girl

[villainc0dedqueer]

Some selections from my playlist of Good Country

Country music is going through a grunge moment and I’m loving it. Bluegrass is bringing back skilled musicians over autotuned asshats singing about their trucks. Queer musicians are subverting the space and emphasizing the cowboy as a gay icon, or just refusing to be driven out of the spaces where they’ve always been by homophobia. Instead of god, guns, and tractors selling concert tickets, it’s sex, drugs, and fastgrass.

Exciting things are happening in country music right now, and if you wrote it off before it’s worth revisiting and seeing what’s new.

hating on country music is so childish there are so many good artists out there look up peeps like adeem the artist, nick shoulders, cat clyde or zach bryan

[moocowmoocow]

When you see me on the street You're just glad it ain't you dyin' out in the cold on dead man's curve You tell yourself little white lies look me dead in my black eye And say to me I got what I deserved

[bandsofmarv]

What’s Your Favourite Horror Movie Pogue?

Rafe Cameron, consumed by an obsessive love for you, becomes Ghostface, murdering anyone he sees as a threat to his claim on you.

TW- murder, obsessive behaviour.

The Outer Banks was known for its beauty: golden sunsets, endless beaches, and the salty air that whispered promises of freedom. But lately, that promise felt like a lie. The town was gripped with fear, whispers of a masked killer spreading like wildfire. They called him Ghostface, a name plucked from horror movies but now real, haunting your life in ways you couldn’t escape.

What no one knew—what you didn’t know—was that the killer wasn’t some faceless stranger. It was Rafe Cameron.

And his obsession with you was the reason the killings had begun.

The first time you noticed something strange, it had been subtle. Rafe was always intense, his gaze lingering on you a little too long, his presence suffocating in a way that should have made you uncomfortable. But Rafe was also charming, magnetic even. You found yourself drawn to him despite the warnings in your head.

But as the days passed, his intensity deepened. He started showing up unannounced—at your work, outside your house, even at the places you went to clear your mind.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he’d say, flashing that disarming smile. “With everything going on, you can’t be too careful.”

At first, it felt sweet. Protective. But soon, it felt suffocating.

The murders began with strangers—people you didn’t know well enough to connect the dots. A lifeguard at the beach, a couple tourists who had wandered into the wrong part of town. The pattern was erratic at first, but then it started to hit closer to home.

You were with Sarah Cameron when she got the call about her boyfriend, Topper. The cops had found him in the woods, gutted like an animal. Sarah broke down in your arms, sobbing uncontrollably, and you couldn’t help but notice Rafe watching from the corner of the room.

His expression wasn’t one of grief. It was satisfaction.

The night it all came crashing down, you were alone in your house. The power had gone out during a storm, and you were sitting in the living room with a flashlight and your phone, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling over you.

That’s when you heard the knock at the door.

It wasn’t loud—just three soft taps, deliberate and slow.

“Who is it?” you called, your voice shaking.

No response.

You grabbed a kitchen knife and crept toward the door, your heart pounding. When you peeked through the peephole, all you saw was darkness.

Then your phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number: You shouldn’t be alone.

Your blood ran cold.

Before you could react, the window behind you shattered, and a figure in black vaulted into the room. The scream caught in your throat as the figure lunged at you, pinning you to the floor.

The knife clattered from your hand as you struggled, but it was no use. The figure was too strong, too quick.

“Stop fighting,” the distorted voice said, low and mechanical through the voice modulator. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The masked figure pulled out a knife, holding it to your throat, but he didn’t press down. Instead, he leaned closer, tilting his head as if studying you.

Then, slowly, he removed the mask.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His eyes were wild, his lips curved into a twisted smile. “I told you I’d protect you,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something dark. “I just needed to get rid of the distractions.”

“Distractions?” you echoed, your mind racing as realization hit.

“Topper. JJ. Sarah. They were all in the way. You couldn’t see it, but I did. They didn’t deserve to be near you.”

Tears streamed down your face as you stared at him in horror. “You killed them? All of them?”

“I did it for you,” he said, his tone almost tender. “Don’t you see? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You shook your head, trying to inch away, but he grabbed your wrists, his grip bruising.

The room was suffocating, the walls closing in as Rafe knelt over you, the Ghostface mask discarded at his side. His wild blue eyes locked onto yours, his breath uneven with exhilaration.

“Let me explain,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with madness. “You don’t understand now, but you will.”

You didn’t want to understand. Every instinct told you to fight, to scream, to do something, but his weight pinned you to the floor, and his manic gaze froze you in place.

“It started with Topper,” Rafe said, as if you’d asked for the story. “That guy was such an idiot, thinking he could push you around at parties, making those crude comments. I hated the way he looked at you.”

Your mind flashed to that night at the beach bonfire, when Topper had made some drunk joke about you being “the hottest Pogue.” You’d brushed it off, but Rafe had been furious, storming off without a word.

“I followed him that night,” Rafe continued, his tone calm, like he was recounting a mundane event. “He didn’t even hear me coming. One quick cut across the throat, and he went down like the pathetic little worm he was.”

You gagged, bile rising in your throat, but Rafe didn’t stop.

“And Sarah,” he said, his lips curling into a sneer. “She was always trying to play the big sister, telling me to leave you alone. She didn’t get it. She thought she could warn you, but she didn’t realize how serious I was.”

Tears blurred your vision as you thought of Sarah—her kind smile, the way she’d pulled you aside to warn you about Rafe’s behavior.

“I didn’t want to kill her,” he said, his voice softening, almost regretful. “But she wouldn’t shut up. She was going to ruin everything. So, I took her out by the marsh. She fought hard, you know? Almost made me rethink it. Almost.”

He paused, studying your face as if gauging your reaction. “I made it quick. For her.”

“You’re a monster,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

His eyes darkened, and he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t say that,” he hissed. “I did this for you. For us. You think I wanted to hurt you? To scare you? I had to. They were all trying to take you away from me.”

“JJ…” you started, your voice trembling.

Rafe grinned, leaning back slightly. “Oh, JJ was fun. He was always so cocky, always acting like he could protect you. I wanted to see him break.”

You remembered the day JJ’s body was found under the pier, the jagged “X” carved into his chest. The image would haunt you forever.

“He begged,” Rafe said, his tone almost giddy now. “He said, ‘Please, don’t do this.’ As if I’d ever listen to him. He didn’t deserve to be near you, Y/N. None of them did.”

“And Kie?” you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Rafe’s expression hardened. “Kie was the worst. She thought she was better than everyone, always pretending she was the voice of reason. She was a bad influence on you.”

You felt like you might vomit as he continued.

“She went down easy,” he said with a shrug. “I cornered her after you two said goodbye that night. She didn’t even see it coming. She was so distracted, thinking she could keep you safe. But she didn’t stand a chance.”

Your sobs grew louder, and Rafe’s demeanor shifted. He reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle despite the horrors he was describing.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “It’s over now. It’s just us. No one else will ever hurt you, or distract you, or take you away from me.”

“You’re insane,” you spat, your voice shaking with equal parts fear and fury.

Rafe chuckled, leaning closer. “Maybe. But I’m also the only one who truly loves you. Don’t you see that? I did all of this for you.”

You stared into his eyes, the weight of his obsession crashing down on you. There was no reasoning with him, no appealing to his humanity. Rafe Cameron wasn’t just insane—he was utterly and completely lost to his delusion.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You don’t have to fight this. I’ve already won.”

His arrogance was your opening. Summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you drove your knee upward, catching him off-guard. He grunted, the knife slipping from his hand and skidding across the floor.

You didn’t think—you just moved. Scrambling to your feet, you bolted for the door, your heart pounding like a war drum.

“Y/N!” Rafe roared, his voice filled with both fury and disbelief.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Your bare feet slapped against the hardwood as you sprinted out into the stormy night, rain pelting your face and blurring your vision. The wind howled around you, carrying Rafe’s voice as he shouted your name.

You stumbled into the woods, branches clawing at your skin as you pushed deeper into the darkness. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your lungs burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever.

Behind you, you could hear him crashing through the underbrush, relentless in his pursuit.

“You can’t run from me!” he called, his voice cutting through the rain like a blade. “You’re mine, Y/N! You’ll always be mine!”

————————————————————————

You didn’t know how long you ran, but eventually, you found yourself near the old marina. The boats swayed violently in the storm, their masts creaking like eerie sentinels. Desperation drove you forward as you searched for a hiding place, somewhere—anywhere—to catch your breath.

You spotted an abandoned boathouse and darted inside, slamming the door behind you. The smell of salt and damp wood filled your nostrils as you collapsed against the wall, your chest heaving.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then came the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” Rafe’s voice called out, eerily calm now.

Your heart plummeted as you realized he was inside.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your breathing as you pressed yourself deeper into the shadows.

“I know you’re here,” he said, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. “You think you can hide from me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

He was closer now. Too close.

You glanced around frantically, your eyes landing on a rusted wrench lying on the floor nearby. Gripping it tightly, you prepared yourself. You had no choice.

The moment his shadow appeared in the doorway, you swung. The wrench connected with his shoulder, and he let out a furious snarl, staggering back.

“You really think you can get away from me?” he growled, his eyes blazing with fury.

“I have to try,” you said, your voice shaking but firm.

He lunged, and you ducked, slipping past him and back out into the storm. Your legs screamed in protest, your lungs on fire, but you didn’t stop. Not until you saw the headlights.

A car was coming down the old dirt road, its beams cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope. You stumbled into the road, waving your arms frantically.

“Help!” you screamed. “Please, help me!”

The car screeched to a halt, and the driver—a local you vaguely recognized—jumped out.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asked, but before you could answer, Rafe emerged from the woods, his face twisted in rage.

“Don’t listen to her!” Rafe shouted, his tone switching to something almost pleading. “She’s confused—she doesn’t know what she’s saying!”

The driver hesitated, looking between the two of you.

“Please,” you begged, grabbing his arm. “He’s going to kill me!”

That was all it took. The man stepped between you and Rafe, his stance protective.

But Rafe didn’t flinch. He simply smiled.

“Wrong move,” Rafe muttered before pulling a knife from his belt and plunging it into the man’s side.

You screamed as the man crumpled to the ground, his blood mixing with the rain-soaked dirt.

“You see?” Rafe said, turning back to you, his knife dripping red. “There’s no one who can save you. No one who understands you like I do.”

————————————————————————

Days later, you woke up in a strange room, the faint scent of sea air filling your nose. Your wrists were bound, the rope digging into your skin.

Rafe sat in a chair nearby, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice tender. “No one’s going to take you away from me ever again.”

The reality settled over you like a shroud. You had escaped, but only briefly.

And now, there was no escape. Not from him. Not ever.