Hen's Teeth - When Dublin’s Walls Began to Listen
By Rafi Mercer
New Listing
Hen’s Teeth is one of Dublin 8’s most design-forward listening spaces — explore more in our Ireland Music Venues guide.
Venue Name: Hen’s Teeth
Address: 88–89 Blackpitts, Dublin 8, Ireland
Website: hensteethstore.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hensteethdublin/
Phone: +353 1 561 1162
Spotify Profile: Not available
There are certain addresses in Dublin where the past and present collide in such a way that the air feels different, charged with new possibility. Blackpitts, in the Liberties, is one such place. Historically a working-class neighbourhood of tanneries and breweries, it now carries the scent of renewal — not the sterile gloss of gentrification, but a more layered evolution, where old industrial brickwork now holds spaces of art, food, and sound. At the corner of this story stands Hen’s Teeth, a venue that refuses easy categorisation. Is it a gallery, a restaurant, a hi-fi listening bar? In truth, it is all of these at once, and more.
Hen’s Teeth has become shorthand for a certain kind of Dublin creativity: playful, design-forward, rooted in community but open to international conversation. Step inside and the first thing you notice is not the bar, nor the turntable, but the sense of curated space. The walls are alive with exhibitions — photography, illustration, graphic design — each show reconfiguring the atmosphere of the room. Tables are arranged not in the rigid lines of a restaurant but as though scattered to encourage both privacy and chance encounter. The lighting is deliberate, warm enough for conversation, sharp enough to notice detail.
And then there is the sound. While not a listening bar in the purist Japanese kissaten tradition, Hen’s Teeth has built a reputation for its Hen’s Teeth HiFi sessions — nights where the turntables are given priority, and the audience gathers not just to eat or to look but to listen. On these evenings, the room transforms. What might be a gallery opening in the afternoon becomes, by nightfall, a sonic theatre. Selectors bring vinyl, the house system is tuned to draw out detail, and the chatter of the room lowers instinctively as the records begin.
The experience is different from that of The Big Romance or Fidelity, where every night is built around sound. At Hen’s Teeth, it is the contrast that makes the listening all the more striking. One evening you may come for a plate of carefully designed food, the next for an exhibition launch, and then, perhaps unexpectedly, you find yourself immersed in a record played at volume through a system designed to do it justice. The effect is disarming: sound ambushes you in the best possible way, reminding you that music can be the centre of a room even when you did not expect it.
The food mirrors the approach to sound: thoughtful, surprising, designed to invite conversation rather than to impress through scale. Plates arrive like compositions, balanced in colour and texture, often with nods to global street food and local produce alike. Just as a selector pulls records from different traditions to build a narrative, the kitchen here builds menus that feel cross-cultural without being confused. Eating at Hen’s Teeth before a listening session feels almost like preparing your palate for the night ahead: tuned, sharpened, ready.
The architecture of the space is part of its acoustic personality. Exposed brick walls carry warmth, high ceilings give air, while careful use of wood and soft furnishing tempers reflection. The sound is not swallowed, nor is it harsh; it occupies a middle ground that allows both conversation and immersion. You find yourself leaning in when the needle drops, not because the sound is faint, but because the room itself seems to conspire in directing your attention toward the music.
Hen’s Teeth is also notable for its curatorial bravery. While some listening bars lean heavily into jazz, soul, or the more established traditions of vinyl listening, Hen’s Teeth often extends its programming into the unexpected: world grooves, contemporary Irish electronica, hip hop instrumentals, ambient explorations. The point is not genre purity but cultural dialogue. The audience, too, reflects this: a mix of artists, designers, food lovers, and casual listeners who find themselves discovering something new. In that way, Hen’s Teeth does something rare — it introduces listening culture to those who may not have sought it out, broadening the community without diluting its intent.
And there is humour here too. Hen’s Teeth does not present itself with the hushed reverence of a temple. The very name is playful — a reminder that rarity should be sought, but also that rarity is to be enjoyed. That sense of lightness is reflected in the atmosphere of the nights. You may find yourself laughing at a friend’s story one moment and then suddenly caught by the opening bars of a record that stills the table. The transition feels seamless, because the venue allows for both.
Culturally, Hen’s Teeth represents a shift in Dublin’s relationship to sound. The city has always been strong on live music, from the trad sessions at The Cobblestone to the rock lineage of Whelan’s. But in recent years, spaces like Hen’s Teeth have reminded Dubliners that music can also be about intentional listening — not performance, not background, but immersion. In that sense, it extends the lineage of the listening bar tradition into new territory: less about purity, more about cross-disciplinary dialogue.
On some nights, the energy feels almost clandestine, as if those present have stumbled into a secret society of listeners. The record spins, the needle hums, and a collective silence falls — not enforced, but chosen. In those moments, the line between gallery, restaurant, and listening bar dissolves entirely. All that remains is the record and the room that holds it.
Leaving Hen’s Teeth, you step back onto Blackpitts and feel the contrast of the night. The industrial brick, the new apartments, the ghosts of breweries past — all of it seems to echo faintly with the memory of what you’ve just heard. Dublin is not short of pubs or music venues, but it has very few spaces where food, art, and sound are allowed to co-exist with equal weight. Hen’s Teeth is one of those rare places. And in a city still learning how to listen differently, it matters.
Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe, or click here to read more.
