Iron and Wine’s Sam Beam is OK with being a nobody at Home Depot

As a devoted cinephile and music lover, I was captivated by this article about Sam Beam, the artist behind Iron and Wine, whose latest album “Light Verse” has been on heavy rotation in my playlists lately. The way the article delved into Beam’s personal experiences and how they influenced his songwriting resonated with me on a deeper level.

On a rain-soaked evening as I rode in the backseat of my manager’s SUV along the 101 Freeway, I found myself sharing my thoughts about my kids’ lunches. It’s truly frustrating when all that effort I put into preparing their meals in the early hours only to have them leave uneaten food behind.

He replies with a soft “that’s the same for dinner” in his Southern accent. Iron and Wine, whose real name is Sam Beam and is 49 years old, resides in Durham, North Carolina. He creates intricate and ethereal folk music under this moniker. Beam is married with five daughters; however, not all of them still live with the family.

As a cinephile, I often discover something new and exciting that I’m eager to create. But once I place it on the table, my interest wanes. I chuckle and say, “Alright then, you’re on your own tomorrow. May the best of luck be with you.”

The reason Beam cracks jokes is because of his deep concern. His newest album, “Light Verse,” marks Iron and Wine’s initial studio project since prior to the pandemic. This lengthy hiatus brought creative turmoil for the songwriter; however, he maintains that it ultimately bolstered his bond with his kids.

He shares that as a musician, he frequently travels and noted, “As they grow up into teenagers, if you don’t invest time in them, they may not care if you’re absent. They might even hold it against you. However, they usually won’t make an effort to reconnect.” This change was especially noticeable due to the COVID-19 pandemic, which kept him at home more than ever before. Remarkably, this unexpected turn of events brought a positive outcome, as he acknowledged, “It was quite a silver lining.”

Beam’s extended time at home could explain why he seems deep in thought on “Light Verse,” as he reflects on themes of time, memory, manhood, and love. In the song “Tears That Don’t Matter,” he sings about how experiences are never completely recaptured, using images of a yard ball with a hole and pieces of seashell. He contemplates emptiness in “You’re only empty as a lost and found” and the fleeting nature of goodbyes in “Taken by Surprise.” The album conclses with the poignant “Angels Go Home,” which features strings and explores the connection between “sons and daughters” and “stones in holy water.”

In Los Angeles, where Beam frequently traveled for promotional duties despite some reluctance after two decades with Iron and Wine, he created “Light Verse.” He shared this during a dinner conversation at a Hollywood restaurant. With his piercing eyes and scraggly beard, the singer exuded a wise philosopher demeanor contrasting with his playful sense of humor. Preparing for a tour, Beam was rehearsing with his road band in Burbank. His upcoming gigs at the Bellwether on Friday and Saturday nights would bring him back to this bustling city, which he usually found hectic and rushed before departing once more.

In contrast to previous recording experiences, Sebastian Steinberg, who has been Beam’s bassist for approximately 10 years and also works with Fiona Apple, suggested they set up at producer Dave Way’s studio in the secluded Laurel Canyon area. The team gathered a group of talented Angelenos, including guitarist David Garza, keyboardist Tyler Chester, and Dawes drummer Griffin Goldsmith. Apple even joined in, providing vocals for a duet with Beam on the waltz-time song “All in Good Time,” featuring her breathy rasp contrasting Beam’s croon. The atmosphere was laid-back, and the process was exploratory. According to Beam, “I’ve always admired the concept of people traveling to California in search of freedom.”

In a departure from the deeply personal and diary-like songs popular in today’s music scene, Beam infuses his own experiences with imagination on “Light Verse.” He transforms real-life characters into fictional figures and delights in the musicality of language. For instance, in the song “Yellow Jacket,” he poetically expresses, “Doves shed their unlucky plumage above / Horses in the moonlight, their sight fading.”

“According to Beam, he draws inspiration from his experiences, but he’s not bound to tell the truth. A song isn’t meant to be a factual account or an argument. Instead, it’s a way of exploring language and discovering new meanings.”

One of the most beautiful songs on the album, titled “Cutting It Close,” begins with an unexpected verse that adds to its charm due to the softness of his voice: “Old acquaintance of mine, I admit we barely knew each other, but more than just a few times, we shared an intimate moment.” When asked about the origin of these words, he chuckles. “I usually strum and hum random syllables as I write, and this phrase somehow emerged. Initially, I thought it was quite crude. However, it creates intrigue, leading to more complex themes – a fascinating position for a writer.”

In simpler terms, some of Beam’s songs like “You Never Know” and “Taken by Surprise” repeatedly use certain phrases as refrains, making them sound like repeating mantras. The complex rhythms in these songs, such as the funky beat in “Anyone’s Game,” hold equal importance to Beam as his moving melodies, although he acknowledges that fans usually focus more on the latter. Beam describes his music as an emotional experience, which he believes is what draws people to him.

As I watched the drummer on stage, lost in the rhythm of his beats, he confessed, “In another existence, I’d love to be a drummer myself.” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. The pulse of the music resonated deeply within him, and he explained, “For me, it’s not just about the melody or the lyrics. It’s about being in the heart of the action, where the music truly originates.”

As a movie lover approaching my fifth decade, I’ve been pondering my place in an entertainment industry that feels quite distant as I sit at home preparing uneaten lunches. I came up during the early 2000s, a time when monoculture reigned supreme and everyone was on the lookout for the next big thing through select channels.

Sub Pop, the respected indie record label based in Seattle, took notice of his raw lo-fi demos and signed him on. Subsequently, he found himself embraced by Sub Pop’s audience, eager to discover new talent.

Currently, Beam ponders over how TikTok’s enigmatic algorithm exposes his daughters to new songs, leaving him questioning the ability of upcoming artists to foresee their career prospects. However, it is worth mentioning that Beam himself couldn’t have anticipated the massive success of his hushed acoustic rendition of “Such Great Heights” by The Postal Service. This low-key version gained significant traction when it was included in the 2004 film “Garden State,” ultimately amassing over 84 million streams on Spotify.

Does he ever have the sensation of being a well-known figure? He scans the bustling restaurant, seemingly questioning: Do people here recognize me? (With the beard, the answer is still no.) What about in Durham? “It really depends on where I go,” he explains. “If I visit the alternative grocery store, they know who I am. If I head to Home Depot, I’m just another face in the crowd.”

2024-07-18 21:01

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