Lauren Ruth Ward on the Uncomfortable, the Intimate, and the Real

Wow, what an unbelievable interview this is. And what a beautiful thing it is when music that moves you — music that truly hits something in you — comes from the same person you’re sitting across from, having one of the most honest and thoughtful conversations in a long time. Talking with Lauren Ruth Ward felt exactly like that.

Loved Lost and Loved Again is the title of Lauren’s latest single, and it’s an ode to acceptance, as she herself says. “Hiding and massaging the truth is an exhausting way to live. It’s not living. You’re not living until you accept who you are.” There’s so much truth in just that one sentence — and it makes the warm and soulful sound of the song feel even more meaningful. Accepting ourselves doesn’t mean standing still — it means meeting ourselves honestly, so we can grow from a place that’s real. To be honest, I could keep writing endlessly about how much this interview inspired me. I deeply share her thoughts — on discomfort, on creation, on truth, on choosing your own rhythm in a world full of noise. “That’s where worthwhile ideas live — in the uncomfortable and confusing stages.”

Lauren Ruth Ward is a Baltimore-born multidisciplinary artist, known for her electrifying stage presence and deeply human lyrics. She’s been praised by outlets like Billboard, LADYGUNN and NYLON, but the essence of her work lives beyond the press. It lives in her rawness, her refusal to conform, her slow-burning way of building connection — not performance.

Loved Lost and Loved Again, is both a folk-rock confession and a kind of balm. It holds the listener close, then lets them go just enough to feel their own breath again. “This song is about not only allowing our past to be, but accepting others’ pasts — and accepting them fully.”

In our interview, we talk about what it means to make art without chasing virality. About the personal discomfort of not knowing. About new ways of touring, community, softness, and truth. It’s a conversation about the cracks — and the quiet, stubborn light that finds its way through them.

photography by Jun Lu

Hey Lauren, nice to have you here. Your new single “Loved Lost and Loved Again” feels like a full emotional journey. It holds space for both softness and strength. Was there a real-life moment that sparked it?

Thank you so much. Yes, absolutely! Every moment in my life, involving love and grief, with myself or with another, led me to writing this song. It’s an ode to acceptance. Not only allowing our past to be, but accepting others’ pasts, thus accepting them fully. Hiding and massaging the truth is an exhausting way to live, it’s not living, you’re not living until you accept who you are. And from that place, this fingerprint, perfectly flawed, continues to take shape every time we love, receive and grieve.

How has the response to the song and video been so far? And how much does that kind of feedback mean to you personally?

I cherish every text, email, direct message and comment I receive about my art and its effect. In a world filled with distractions, we are often fighting with the noise just to remember who we are, what we like, dislike. As a victim of the attention economy myself, I know the effort it takes to not only listen to a 5-minute song but to let it sink in, digest it, and reach out to the creator with a message from the heart. Being on the receiving end is a gift I don’t take lightly.

You wrote, “I want to hold your hand, make you uncomfortable, and inspire you.” When’s the last time art made you uncomfortable — in a good way?

Every time I make something there is a stage where I am uncomfortable, it’s more like an unsureness of what the outcome will look or sound like. It is a part of the process of creating. Conversely, as a consumer of art, I look for the uncomfortable phase and try to stay with it as long as possible. I was trained to make things make sense, we all are, and the sense we make of things is usually a farce, a knee-jerk reaction to gain “control”. As I get older and rewire my domestication, I experience more excitement and inspiration in the uncomfortable and confusing stages of receiving information and creating. That’s where worthwhile ideas live.

“We would experience so much more of our human potential if we lived in a society that encouraged our own way of being as the hierarchical way to exist.”

Exploring the human condition is something you’ve spoken about in your work. Are there certain emotions or experiences that keep returning in your songs?

That’s a great question. I tend to naturally revisit the human conditioning part of the human condition. There is so much to roast and debunk in our current indoctrination system. I think it’s incredible that people forget, or don’t believe, or do believe but choose to ignore, that everything we are taught to do and not do was invented by only one person (to whom it worked well for, hooray for them!) I remind myself that what I “know” of how to be and not be, is not fact, it is not the final, and no way of being should ever be final, that’s death. Taking it a little out of context, but this makes me think of what Maharaj said in I Am That, “Identity and continuity are not the same thing.” We would experience so much more of our human potential if we lived in a society that encouraged our own way of being as the hierarchical way to exist. The current system calls that approach therapy. And too many ways of being makes it hard to sell to and control masses. My mind usually starts there when writing.

You’ve said you create from a place of truth, not to go viral. But that’s not always easy these days. How do you stay true to yourself and your own rhythm?

I have two answers to this. Part 1. It is absolutely not easy these days. I know I am lucky with timing, gaining the majority of my supporters prior to quarantine’s TikTok boom: entertainment from the comfort of your own bed. I’ve been told by some folks in the music industry that fanbases established via IG, pre-COVID, are more likely to purchase tickets to live shows. I’ve experienced this truth. Tour is not a goal for every artist, but for me the in-person connection is imperative to my writing and humanhood. And I hate to sound trite, but it’s also one way to pay for my shelter and food. I’ve only been a secondhand witness to an incredibly talented musician peer who had to cancel a tour because their literal overnight success, record deal, million followers etc. did not result in folks buying tickets to immediate tour. As a fan, it takes time for me to fall in love with an artist. ‘Strike the iron while it’s hot’ industry approach is flawed… I also know nothing! I only know what has worked for me and my pontifications on the why of it all change weekly.

Part 2. What will never change for me is that any teammate (label, bandmate, manager) that I get the privilege of working with, I am immediately upfront with my intention, and the limitations they pose. I vocalize something I unknowingly hid from myself for a long time, something that caused people in my past corners confusion and frustration. “I create from a place of truth, not to go viral. Does that work for you?” Everyone in my artist and human life currently said yes to this. I encourage every artist to figure out what your intentions are prior to bringing in a team, and imagine what kind of parameters these priceless declarations could create when being honest with what is expected of an artist these days. Be as blunt and grateful as possible with those who’re offering to work for / with you. I wish I would’ve known that was something I needed to figure out sooner. The peace that’s come from these acts is endless.

“Hiding and massaging the truth is an exhausting way to live.”

The struggles of the music industry are something you’ve spoken about openly. Was there a moment that made you think: something has to change?

Full essay here: Read more

You’ve been touring with Undertow, a platform that helps artists play intimate shows in fans’ homes and alternative spaces. That means performing in living rooms, yoga studios, and backyards instead of traditional venues. How does that kind of closeness change the way you connect with people during a show?

I’ve actually yet to embark on my first tour with Undertow. It’s throughout the US from October to January. From my DIY and pop-up show days, I’ve got nothing but excitement in my heart for the intimate memories that are ahead of me. I love smaller crowds because I love being able to connect with every person. I love not using an amp because I love pushing and pulling my volume to match my in-time emotions. I love not using a microphone because I love swaying my head in to keep tempo. All the above in reverse is also a wonderful experience. I’m just really really looking forward to experiencing something simple. Balancing simple and produced is my game — keeps things fresh.

Do you think models like Undertow are the future for indie artists?

I encourage any touring artist, poet, dancer, writer, who is lucky to have folks who are interested in attending their live experiences, to do the math. Financially and spiritually, do the math. Be honest with yourself with what kind of relationship you want with your art, and with your fans, and see if the current entertainment system, and the role that you play in it, supports or suppresses what you’re looking to cultivate. I did the math and found that this model aligns with my intentions and output. But all artists are different.

“Be as blunt and grateful as possible with those who are offering to work for / with you.”

What does success mean to you right now? Has your definition shifted?

Success is trying! I used to attach it to the outcome after trying, learning, mastering.

The photoshoot we’re featuring alongside this interview carries a special mood; it seems to take place in a hotel room. There’s something about hotel rooms — they can feel dreamy, lonely, or suspended in-between. What made this setting feel like the right space for the shoot?

It was actually somewhat out of necessity. The photographer, one of my favorites, Jun Lu, is NYC-based. We fit this shoot into a brief trip back in December when I came to town to open up for my pal Donna Missal. My partner nurtured me with a room at the Soho Grand. It was a 1 + 1 = 2 kinda thing, and a reminder of how generous the people in my life are.