Francesca Moody—the theatrical tastemaker who turned trauma into box office gold with Baby Reindeer—now wants you to cry, heal, and sway gently in your seat to the dulcet tones of Ohio, a “joyful” grief concert performed by married US indie-folk duo The Bengsons. Yes, just when you thought the Edinburgh Fringe couldn’t possibly absorb one more show about loss, faith, or chronic illness, here come Shaun and Abigail Bengson to deliver all three. With harmonies.

A real-life couple offering intimacy as art, music as memoir, and suffering with a side of banjo

Ohio, which runs from 30 July to 24 August at Assembly Roxy, is part autobiographical memoir, part therapeutic hootenanny, and entirely designed to make you feel things (with creative captions, no less). Shaun has inherited a degenerative hearing condition, has lost his religion, and yet, rather than spiralling into despair or a podcast, he’s chosen to embrace the unanswerable with open arms and an acoustic guitar. If Once and a TED Talk had a sentimental love child, Ohio would be breastfeeding it on a rustic porch in Vermont.

The Bengsons, previously haunting the alt-theatre circuits of New York, describe their show as an “ecstatic grief concert,” which may be the most Fringe sentence ever composed. It promises “sonic communion,” which presumably means a singalong with existential consequences. Expect moving melodies, tremulous hope, and enough vulnerability to trigger the entire therapy-prone assembly of Gen Z TikTok-ers who will attend thinking it's a Phoebe Bridgers gig.

Director Caitlin Sullivan—another name familiar to those fluent in downtown NY theatre—helps shape the emotional journey. But let’s be honest, the draw here is the Bengsons themselves: a real-life couple offering intimacy as art, music as memoir, and suffering with a side of banjo.

While some may eye-roll at yet another performance branded as “deeply personal” and “joyfully dedicated to access,” it’s hard to argue with the buzz. Moody’s seal of approval means this one is already tagged for transfer. And in a Fringe season groaning under the weight of stand-up bros and trauma dumping, something tender, lyrical, and unapologetically earnest might just be what the doctor (or casting director) ordered.

So: if you like your musicals folksy, your grief poetic, and your Fringe shows sponsored by tears and tambourines, Ohio awaits. Just don’t forget your tissues—or your ironic detachment.