In her apartment, makeshift recording spaces replaced glossy studios. Snippets of melodies were captured on her phone at odd hours. Lyrics took shape in notebooks alongside sketches, poetry, and journal entries. Without the pressure of a release schedule, she allowed herself to experiment, to write songs that might never see the light of day, purely as a way of processing the uncertainty around her.
These sessions weren’t without struggle. Creative blocks hit harder in isolation, and Lawrence has spoken candidly about the anxiety that can creep in when there’s no one around to spark inspiration. But over time, she learned to treat songwriting as a form of self-therapy. When the outside world felt chaotic, crafting melodies and words offered a sense of order and control.
Her influences during this period shifted as well. Without the constant rotation of tour playlists or label-suggested collaborators, she gravitated toward the artists she personally found comforting and challenging: the lyrical intimacy of Phoebe Bridgers, the atmospheric layers of Bon Iver, the emotional intensity of Fiona Apple. These influences seeped into her own work, giving her post-lockdown songs a moodier, more textured sound.
When studios reopened and collaborations became possible again, Lawrence emerged with a creative toolkit sharpened by solitude. Instead of relying solely on outside production to shape her sound, she had a stronger sense of her own vision. This clarity was evident in tracks like “God Must Be Doing Cocaine” and “Why Do You Love Me” —songs that bridged the gap between her pre-lockdown pop sensibilities and the more introspective tone she had cultivated during isolation.