BJ Barham writes and acts from a place of honesty, sincerity. Every little thing he does suffused by the principles he’s nurtured, developed throughout his adulthood. Hard-earned, celebrating five years of sobriety, two years of parenthood, and approaching fifteen years in the music industry. A cliche of sorts, sure, but things certainly do change, with the last few years marking more for BJ than most people.
Before I begin, let me emphasize something important: I am a big American Aquarium (and BJ Barham) fan. On our walls, we have his posters, postcards (a pledge music thing), and even a signed record (vinyl removed for listening). We’ve had the pleasure of meeting BJ a half-dozen or so times, before and after shows, always kind, always gracious.
American Aquarium bears little resemblance to their namesake (Wilco), at any stage of either of their respective careers. Both bands bring the noise, but in different ways. BJ writes songs that fit in the general country americana type sound, with plenty of rock and roll tumbled into the mix. He possesses a sonorous voice, the kind that can withstand the tumult of live music but still thrives while he flicks soft chords. He has cultivated that dynamic quality over the last decade and change – seven and a half albums – creating a deep reservoir of songs, timbres, and emotions. And they play live often, to the tune of 200-250 shows a year, contributing to at least some of the change through which BJ’s lived recently.
He toured a solo album, Rockingham, in the wake of his entire band quitting, hitting 48 states and playing 57 shows in 59 days, all with his wife Rachael along for the ride. The two of them visited as many national parks as they could, enjoyed the traveling, and not so long after the tour ended, welcomed a baby girl. This all naturally influenced the direction of the songs that came out of Things Change, the album released June 2018, with an all-new lineup of the band.
He brought that lineup to Rams Head Live in Baltimore on June 20, 2019, taking the stage after Joshua Black Wilkins. Joshua played solo, just him, his guitar, and harmonica, but that was all he needed to shut up (most of) the crowd. His voice flirts with the edge of something about to break, his playing mournful and honest, existing somewhere between folk and blues. I’ve followed his photography for a long time, always imagining the colorful life he lives, seeing the portraits he sees and having the gift to capture them.
His music reminds me of his photography, a little noir a lot honest; a little wry, a lot tormented. He has a gift for the distilling of complex emotions into a line or two, letting his voice impart the passion. And as he showed, he knows when and when not to give a fuck, telling the crowd that the only confederate flag he supports is the white one, leaving the urban cowboy shouting, “Stars and Bars” to his vacuum, turning back to his songs. I highly recommend picking up his records, buying a bandana, and checking out his photography. Make sure to talk to him awhile.
After Joshua left the stage, BJ and the boys walked out after a brief pause, setting it ablaze with opening song, “The World is On Fire”, a song written in the wake of the 2016 presidential election, when anger and shock gradually had to give way to hope. When BJ sang, “I got a baby girl comin’ in the spring / I worry ’bout the world she’s comin’ into / But she’ll have my fight, she’ll haver her mama’s fire / If anyone builds a wall in her journey / Baby, bust right through it”, and punched into the chorus, it felt like an anthem for perseverance and fighting back.
The band quickly slid into ”Tough Folks“, the other side of perseverance and following the change that needs to happen; less of a directly political song, the lyrics instead focus on the importance of recognizing that, sometimes, the only choice is moving forward, no matter how hard life can get.
With barely a breath and a moment to pause, the band flew into “Casualties” and “St. Mary’s” from burn.flicker.die, the 2012 album produced by Jason Isbell that almost acted as a swan song for the band; in person, these songs flex and snarl, riffs and rhythms moving the crowd to motion. After raising pulses, they slowed it down for a seamless run of “Losing Side of Twenty-Five” into “Wolves”, a pair of songs for which BJ often has stories about his mother, his career, or Julius Hodge.
Interestingly, Things Change barely featured on the night, with only three songs coming from it all night long. Rather, American Aquarium pulled from their whole catalog, switching between the classic singalong rockers, like “I Ain’t Going to the Bar Tonight”, “I Hope He Breaks Your Heart”, and “Burn.Flicker.Die”; to the slow-burn, dynamic songs that explode like “Jacksonville” and “Lonely Ain’t Easy”; and the downtempo tunes made a little bigger by the band around him, like “Man I’m Supposed to Be”, “Rockingham”, and “Family Problems,” this last one introduced by a story about the nature of hereditary addiction and how every family has a good side and not-good side.
Throughout the show, BJ laughed and smiled at his bandmates, dancing around the stage like a tempest with a red guitar. But most importantly, he told stories, a trademark of his, with a deadpan approach and southern accent holding the audience to the edge of the stage.
BJ told the audience about his relationship with his father, how he goes home for the big holidays every year. Every time, his father says, “Let me get this straight…” before adding something wildly offensive, but in a loving and caring way, so BJ would brace himself. Most recently, his father’s next words came, “People pay you to listen to you bitch about your problems?” BJ responded, “Yessir, they do,” and his father added, “I lived with you for 18 years, and you never once said anything I’d pay you to repeat.” And BJ would give an awkward side hug, and then he’d have the same conversation at another holiday.
But this past Father’s Day, BJ wanted to prove that his hobby was a legitimate career. Every year for as long as he can remember, BJ, his brother, and his mother would all buy his father $50 Lowes gift cards. Last year, though, BJ deviated from the plan, buying his father the one thing he’d always wanted and never bought – a standing mower, refusing to let his father mow the lawn as a “peasant”. For Father’s Day, everyone else gave his father a gift card, but BJ had nothing at the table.
The doorbell rang at the perfect time – the sound played in the venue as the keyboardist added to the story – and it was delivered, but his father initially turned it down, assuming it must be a mistake. BJ stepped in, dramatically indicating that maybe one of his sons was trying to teach him a ”valuable lesson”. His father ran out, practically unloaded the mower himself, and BJ learned something important: ”you can’t buy happiness, but you can buy your father’s love and respect.”
At more than one point, an audience member shouted a request, eliciting laughter from BJ and a reminder that he is the professional guiding the ship, wondering how a pilot would react to a passenger suggesting a different path for flying. And he then acknowledged that he would play the requested song at some point that night. Turned out he’d make it the first song of the encore, the saddest, most heartwrenching love song I’ve ever heard – “The Unfortunate Kind.” Not having any tissues at the ready, I just shook my head and tried hard not to think about the song, letting it wash over me and waiting for a little less sadness.
When the song ended, BJ promised to come out to say goodnight to anyone who wanted to say hello, to shake hands, and to thank everyone for supporting live, independent music, and then he invited the band back onstage, and they tore into the loudest, catchiest version of “Katherine Belle” I’d ever heard, all before saying that final goodnight.
As promised, he stood behind the merch table and a line formed to say goodnight. He took dozens of pictures with folks, signed anything and everything anyone asked him to sign, ensuring everyone felt like they had time to actually talk with him. Even though he so often calls himself an asshole during his sobriety story, nothing could be further from the truth. He’s kind, gracious, and happens to have a helluva southern wit if someone says something stupid. So don’t say something stupid and he’ll keep being the kindest an in show business.
