Miranda Lambert’s “Heart Like Mine” Catalog Snapped Up in Industry Showdown

Mia Reynolds, 1/28/2026Miranda Lambert's entire song catalog has been acquired by Sony Music Publishing and Domain Capital Group, marking a significant moment in country music. This deal values her impactful storytelling and establishes a partnership for future works, while Lambert continues to innovate across various creative ventures.

What does it mean, exactly, when a songwriter’s catalog changes hands? Not just business—though with song catalogs trading for sums that could fund a moderately sized football stadium, there’s surely commerce at play. There’s also something curiously vulnerable about it, too: the legacy of heartbreak anthems and whiskey-worn hymns—tracks like “White Liar,” “Bluebird,” “Over You,” and “Heart Like Mine”—is being entrusted to new caretakers. Even in 2025, when streaming algorithms spit out nostalgia as fast as yesterday’s TikTok trends, Lambert’s catalog crackles with the electricity of lived experience.

Sony, for its part, doesn’t hide its affection. Rusty Gaston, Nashville’s publishing CEO, calls Lambert “real in every sense of the word.” And if authenticity counts for anything in the age of digital gloss, she’s got it in spades. That word—real—clings to Miranda the way red dirt sticks to boots after a Texas thunderstorm. No surprise, then, that a partnership stretching back to 2003 only grows deeper in the wake of this acquisition. Sometimes, the music and the business walk hand in hand down the same winding highway.

The deal isn’t just a pat on the back for a glittering career (though she’s got plenty to fill a trophy shelf)—it’s also a bet on the lasting influence of stories told from the gut. Domain Capital Group, now an increasingly familiar name behind country’s biggest catalogs, calls her songs “impactful.” Perhaps an understatement. For plenty of fans, these tunes have been life rafts through breakups, road trips, and good old-fashioned Friday nights out.

Of course, the ink on the deal hasn’t had time to fade before the next verse unfolds. Along with snapping up Lambert’s existing catalog, Sony and Domain have agreed on a forward-looking arrangement. She’s still writing; no one’s capping the wellspring just yet. The next messy emotion, the next roll-down-the-window chorus—they’ll have a place to land. And with Sony Pictures Television readying a Hulu project loosely woven from her lyrics, there’s little danger of these stories gathering dust on a shelf.

It’s not all about retro hits or sentimental classics, either. Lambert keeps one cowboy boot firmly planted in the present. Her latest duet with Chris Stapleton, “A Song to Sing,” has elbowed its way into the Billboard Country Airplay Top 20, even scoring a 2025 Grammy nod. Here’s an artist whose creative gas tank is nowhere near empty—a rare thing in a business fond of fast turnover and next-big-things.

It’s almost easy to lose track of how many hats (and hats, literally, she’s designed a few) Lambert wears these days. There’s her record label, Big Loud Texas—co-founded to champion homegrown sound. The memoir she penned, the Western fashion line, the woman-owned Nashville honky-tonk (Casa Rosa), not to mention MuttNation Foundation—raising more than $11 million for animal welfare and leaving plenty of paw prints beside her chart-toppers. The music may be her anchor, but she's clearly not afraid to test new waters.

Are there blueprints for longevity in country—and music in general? If so, hers might be scribbled on the inside flap of a guitar case: stubborn vulnerability, refusal to sand down the rough edges, a knack for telling it how it is, even when it doesn’t make for polite small talk. Sony’s investment seems less a curtain call and more a relay handoff, passing the torch (or the songbook) to new hands, but always with an ear tilted toward what’s next.

Perhaps in another era, catalog sales felt like a final bow. These days, the music world has realized that stories can keep stretching out, scene by scene, across streaming playlists and, now, television screens. Lambert’s latest move reads more like a chapter break than a swan song—a chance for old melodies to find new harmonies.

And who knows? Somewhere—maybe in a sunbaked Nashville studio or on a quiet Texas back porch—the next chorus is already teasing its way into the world.

It’s funny how a handful of songs—scribbled in notebooks or on the backs of tour bus receipts—can outlive even the glossiest rhinestones on the red carpet. For Miranda Lambert, whose plainspoken honesty has always felt about as manufactured as a Sunday porch swing, those songs just found a new place to call home. This spring, Sony Music Publishing Nashville and Domain Capital Group quietly lassoed her entire back catalog, corralling a body of work that’s as much a diary as a playlist for three decades of country music.What does it mean, exactly, when a songwriter’s catalog changes hands? Not just business—though with song catalogs trading for sums that could fund a moderately sized football stadium, there’s surely commerce at play. There’s also something curiously vulnerable about it, too: the legacy of heartbreak anthems and whiskey-worn hymns—tracks like “White Liar,” “Bluebird,” “Over You,” and “Heart Like Mine”—is being entrusted to new caretakers. Even in 2025, when streaming algorithms spit out nostalgia as fast as yesterday’s TikTok trends, Lambert’s catalog crackles with the electricity of lived experience.Sony, for its part, doesn’t hide its affection. Rusty Gaston, Nashville’s publishing CEO, calls Lambert “real in every sense of the word.” And if authenticity counts for anything in the age of digital gloss, she’s got it in spades. That word—real—clings to Miranda the way red dirt sticks to boots after a Texas thunderstorm. No surprise, then, that a partnership stretching back to 2003 only grows deeper in the wake of this acquisition. Sometimes, the music and the business walk hand in hand down the same winding highway.The deal isn’t just a pat on the back for a glittering career (though she’s got plenty to fill a trophy shelf)—it’s also a bet on the lasting influence of stories told from the gut. Domain Capital Group, now an increasingly familiar name behind country’s biggest catalogs, calls her songs “impactful.” Perhaps an understatement. For plenty of fans, these tunes have been life rafts through breakups, road trips, and good old-fashioned Friday nights out.Of course, the ink on the deal hasn’t had time to fade before the next verse unfolds. Along with snapping up Lambert’s existing catalog, Sony and Domain have agreed on a forward-looking arrangement. She’s still writing; no one’s capping the wellspring just yet. The next messy emotion, the next roll-down-the-window chorus—they’ll have a place to land. And with Sony Pictures Television readying a Hulu project loosely woven from her lyrics, there’s little danger of these stories gathering dust on a shelf.It’s not all about retro hits or sentimental classics, either. Lambert keeps one cowboy boot firmly planted in the present. Her latest duet with Chris Stapleton, “A Song to Sing,” has elbowed its way into the Billboard Country Airplay Top 20, even scoring a 2025 Grammy nod. Here’s an artist whose creative gas tank is nowhere near empty—a rare thing in a business fond of fast turnover and next-big-things.It’s almost easy to lose track of how many hats (and hats, literally, she’s designed a few) Lambert wears these days. There’s her record label, Big Loud Texas—co-founded to champion homegrown sound. The memoir she penned, the Western fashion line, the woman-owned Nashville honky-tonk (Casa Rosa), not to mention MuttNation Foundation—raising more than $11 million for animal welfare and leaving plenty of paw prints beside her chart-toppers. The music may be her anchor, but she's clearly not afraid to test new waters.Are there blueprints for longevity in country—and music in general? If so, hers might be scribbled on the inside flap of a guitar case: stubborn vulnerability, refusal to sand down the rough edges, a knack for telling it how it is, even when it doesn’t make for polite small talk. Sony’s investment seems less a curtain call and more a relay handoff, passing the torch (or the songbook) to new hands, but always with an ear tilted toward what’s next.Perhaps in another era, catalog sales felt like a final bow. These days, the music world has realized that stories can keep stretching out, scene by scene, across streaming playlists and, now, television screens. Lambert’s latest move reads more like a chapter break than a swan song—a chance for old melodies to find new harmonies.And who knows? Somewhere—maybe in a sunbaked Nashville studio or on a quiet Texas back porch—the next chorus is already teasing its way into the world.