A Hymn, A Leap, A Whole New Chapter
Funny how some tracks are touching my ground. It starts like a memory you didn’t know you had. There’s no drama or big entrance here, just a slow pull into something that feels familiar and new all at once. That’s how Hymn for Becoming by Lauren Conklin found me. It steps right in, drops its dusty boots on the hardwood floor of your mind, and starts talking about change. This release landed May 30 like a breeze off the Tennessee hills. And it’s just strings – no percussion, no brass, no vocals – just Conklin’s violins and viola riding alongside Kaitlyn Raitz’s cello and Bruno Migliari’s upright bass, all wrapped up in a sound so close, so raw, you can practically hear the closeness, the rawness, the physical mechanics of playing.
It played once and stayed, quiet, but still there. And it’s not just the instrumentation that got under my skin. It’s the feeling that this piece was born out of the silence between one life ending and another one beginning. If you’ve ever stood at the edge of a big change, with your gut doing backflips, you’ll get it.
From Royal Albert to Rebirth
Conklin’s road was paved with spotlights. She’s played the Royal Albert Hall, the Grand Ole Opry, and popped up on The Colbert Show. That kind of hustle wears shiny boots, but it doesn’t always fit forever. She knew it. And instead of letting that itch grow into regret, she leapt – right into the world of film scores and sonic storytelling.
Her inspiration? A comic by Deepak Ramola. A single panel with a line that marked me up, like a goodbye with open arms: “Will I ever be the same again?” “No, but you’ll be many more beautiful things.”
Lauren Conklin’s Hymn for Becoming in My Head
Here’s where it gets wild. The whole track is strings. That’s it. And still, it paints an entire landscape. I’m talking wild horses, mountain air, slow sunsets over barbed-wire fences. If you close your eyes, you might swear you’re in an episode of Yellowstone, watching the wind move through tall grass while Kevin Costner stares at something broken. Truth is, Lauren, the only place my heart’s ever wandered is through that series. Never been to Tennessee. Never smelled its earth or felt its sky. But the door’s still open, isn’t?
The textures are intimate, almost intrusive in the best way. You can hear fingers slide, bows breathe. Lauren recorded the strings with a fiddler’s closeness, not a concert hall’s distance. The cello and bass were laid down remotely by Raitz and Migliari, but you’d never know it.
Their tone nestles right into Conklin’s like they were playing on the same porch swing. Eva Reistad took care of the mixing, keeping everything organic, tactile – like an audio you can taste.
Where To Find It (And Why You Should)
Hymn for Becoming drops May 30 on all streaming platforms. There’s also a music video, shot in the rolling greens of Nashville’s countryside. But don’t mistake it for a backdrop. It’s the setting for a quiet reckoning.
In her own words, Lauren wrote the piece in the middle of a major life shift – leaving the road behind, stepping into the unknown. It’s about the unease of becoming someone new, and the strange joy in giving yourself permission to change. Not a big speech. Strings only, space a lot, and the feeling of walking into a life that isn’t mapped out yet.
Lauren Conklin’s journey steps away from the usual stardom chase. I see something quieter in it. Braver, too. The kind of shift I’ve caught myself craving now and then. Hymn for Becoming dropped May 30 on all streaming platforms.
Here, the artist traded spotlight glitter for the deep glow of honest composition. And this track? It’s not even an anthem, or a goodbye. It’s a map, one drawn in strings, stories, and the spaces between.
Wander through Lauren Conklin’s world at www.laurenconklin.com or catch glimpses behind the scenes on Instagram. Just don’t expect fireworks. Expect the shiny spark of something real.
