Sam Beam has a perfectly rational explanation for the naming of his eighth album. Speaking in the run up to the release of Hen’s Teeth he could it seemed barely contain his enthusiasm for the idea; “I just love it. To me it suggests the impossible. Hen’s teeth do not exist. And that’s what this record felt like: a gift that shouldn’t be there, but it is. An impossible thing, but it’s real.”
For a man not given to hyperbole this is a bold claim, especially as this latest work has it’s origins in the same recording time that gave birth to it’s predecessor, 2024’s Light Verse. Leaning in a little, the singer’s rationale has more sense, as before that he’d suffered two years of creative dysfunction, giving the Laurel Canyon sessions held with producer Dave Way far greater personal meaning. Such was the understanding he built with an ensemble cast of players, they were much to his elation delivering one or two songs a day.
Musically darker and more earthy than its sibling, the lyrical forms often dive deep into love embodied physically, an intimate trail captured on Roses, a place of mutual solitude where you can where you can ‘Run into the one you love forever / Laugh into each other’s empty mouth’. Patterns follow, with the Simon and Garfunkel-esque Dates And Dead People and Grace Notes both giving themselves long enough to stretch out flat in front of listeners. The finest moments though are those made in conjunction with the Grammy-nominated trio I’m With Her, with Wait Up and in particular Robin’s Egg a foot tapping bundle of absolute sweetness.
Hen’s Teeth is never quite as elusive as Sam Beam may like to think, but it proves at least that he’s a long way from facing extinction.
You can read a full review here.
The Voice Of Unreason 