Writing over the speed limit

Brooklyn singer/songwriter Lizzie No kicks off tour

March 6, 2024 Nina Ajemian

Album design and photography by Cole Nielsen and painting by Christina Graham.

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Lizzie No often writes songs while she’s driving — dangerous, she knows. No likes to take risks, though, especially when it comes to songwriting. Her music is country, folk, whatever she wants it to be. Mostly, it’s music that tells a story.

No was soaring along the highway on her way to Chicago. She was driving fast—but not too fast— and also writing a song. This is how she composes: doing anything other than actually writing at first, and then the ideas flood in. Singing aloud, she records her loose thoughts as voice notes on her phone. Through this process, the song “Deadbeat” on No’s newest album “Halfsies” was born.

“It was kind of perilous,” No said. This is typical for her, though. “Usually what I’ll do is I’ll sing into my phone,” she said, “and I’ll keep time. And often I will sing different instruments apart and try to give myself a future roadmap of what the chord progressions might be.”

This was back in 2019, while No was touring her sophomore album, “Vanity.” She was in between stops on tour and heading to a family friend’s house in Oak Park—“such a nice and fancy change of pace from the normal shitty motels I was staying in.” She sat in their attic playing the song over and over again.

Now No, 33, is perched at the dining room table in her Crown Heights apartment. She looks cozy in a t-shirt, leggings and Uggs, her curls half-up, half-down. She has tiny silver ear piercings, like a constellation. No shares this fourth-story walkup with her partner Cole Nielsen, 42, her three step-kids and her overexcitable dog, Berlin, whom No describes as “squirrel-like.”

Art, both the framed and the made-by-kids varieties, hangs on the white walls. A blend of acoustic/indie/folk music plays softly on a speaker. The music resembles No’s own style. She describes “Halfsies” as Americana, alt-country and indie-country, with some rock songs, too. She needed different sounds for different cuts and doesn’t like to limit herself to industry conventions.

No sings and plays the harp and, as a Black and queer musician, knows that her music is intrinsically political. “If you’re a Black artist that is not completely living under a rock,” she explains, “you end up having a choice to make which is—am I going to be honest about my experiences and the way I see the world? Or am I going to smooth it down to try to get ahead?” No chooses to create music on her own terms.

Her stage name is a reflection of that desire. “When I went solo, I really needed to define what I didn’t want,” No, born Lizzie Quinlan, explains. “There’s a lot of ‘I refuse this, I refuse that,’ so that I can get to the good stuff.” Plus, “Lizzie, no!” was a phrase she heard a lot as a kid.

No grew up in Princeton, NJ, in a music-filled house—hymns courtesy of her Southern Baptist dad and The Beatles, Carol King and Mary Chapin Carpenter from her mom. She graduated from Stanford University in 2013 with a degree in comparative literature and moved to New York City two years later. She played music with friends for a bit, and then in 2017 released her debut solo album, “Hard Won.”

“As she got older and she was doing more with it, it just felt like a beautiful outgrowth of when your kids have a talent and they’re using it,” says Cathy Quinlan, No’s mother. “It’s very gratifying.”

“Halfsies,” released in January, is a patchwork of styles and versions of No. “The more I kept writing, the more I was like, ‘Oh, there’s actually a whole story that needs to be told,’” she says. The thread tying the album together: themes of transition and a desire to be free.

“I don’t think that the genre of ‘country music’ should exist,” she says. “It was invented by radio stations… It’s literally a segregated genre. It only exists because they didn’t want Black people on the radio, so it was like we split between rhythm and blues and country.”

How does she know when a song is finished? “I have a feeling like I’ve just washed my face,” she says promptly. “I’m awake. And there’s a sense of calm possibility. And I immediately want to share it with someone.”

Sharing her unfinished songs, though, is something No is working on. While she and Nielsen have been together since 2021, she still feels uncomfortable showing him songs in progress. “It feels like showing your belly. Like something that’s not quite finished,” she remarks. “I still have this fear that whoever I’m sharing it with is going to say ‘You’re just not good at writing.’”

This fear may stem from her experiences post-college. Stanford instills a strong belief in students, she explains, that they’re capable and important. Sometimes the outside world tells them otherwise.

No reflects on her start in the music industry. “I was like, ‘But wait, I’m smart and capable. But wait, I have ideas.’ And it doesn’t actually matter that much.” What often matters in the music industry instead is an artist’s appearance, and No often feels self-conscious.

“I’ve started to feel what it is to be a Black woman. Because you can just instinctively feel when someone’s treating you like they respect you—and when they don’t.”

“But,” she adds, “there is a really cool freedom that comes from knowing that you actually will never be what the gatekeepers expect.”

Mid-way through the conversation, following Berlin’s release from the crate and his ensuing antics, No’s step-daughter Quincy, 11, approaches. She has been peacefully playing with her brother Ames, 8, and wants to show No the paper doll she has designed. No’s reaction is what every kid wants when sheepishly showing off their work. No gasps, her mouth forms a perfect O, her eyes widen. “I’m obsessed with her,” No says earnestly of the paper doll.

No herself is paper-doll like on the “Halfsies” album cover. Nielsen, her partner, took the photograph and has been one of No’s collaborators on her music videos and other visual elements. “On the front she’s looking towards a camera, and she has like a paper cut out behind her and she’s in a very elegant dress,” he says. “And then on the back, she’s turned away.” She’s in the same pose, but the colorful background has disappeared. “The world is gone. It’s just a white grid paper and emptiness,” says Nielsen.

Working together has become a core tenet of the couple’s relationship. “She doesn’t need the world to see her through my eyes. But that has been a bit of a byproduct of us working together,” said Nielsen. “I think that’s honestly been the most special thing for both of us is the comfort that we feel on either side of the camera where she feels seen and valued and appreciated and honored—because I see her, I appreciate her and I honor her, and I want to capture her in her power.”

No’s sincerity does not go unnoticed by those around her. “She’s just super genuine and authentic,” says Ali Fenwick, who did backing vocals on No’s new album and has worked on her music videos. “She does not pull punches. And as a performer up on stage, she is giving you the whole unvarnished truth that we ask artists to do and that’s really vulnerable.”

No is excited to be going on tour again and to return to some cities she’s already played, building a following in different parts of the country. She kicked off in Brooklyn on Jan. 19, the “Halfies” release date, and is now winding her way around the country with 24 stops. But even though the album is still new, she commented, “I am mentally albums ahead.” No is always looking down the road at all that awaits her.