American Aquarium Lamentations “Country music was the voice of the
people. It wasn’t always the prettiest voice, but it was an honest
voice,” says American Aquarium founder and frontman BJ Barham. “I
think that’s where country music has lost its way.” He pauses,
then adds, North Carolina accent thick and voice steady: “I operate
in the dark shadows of what we don’t want to talk about in the
South.” These days, those shadows are tall and wide, making it hard
to recognize a neighbor, family––even yourself. On American
Aquarium’s new album Lamentations , Barham shines light on dark
American corners with heartbreaking conversations, long looks in the
mirror, and empathetic questions, all through songwriting that is
clear without sacrificing its poetry, and direct without losing its
humanity. “As a songwriter, my number one job is to observe and then
translate what I observe into a song, a story, a lesson,” Barham
says. “I’d be doing myself and the listener a huge disservice if I
didn’t talk about the things I see, which is a country, divided.”
As much as Barham appreciates an indignant protest song or one-sided
anthem, he isn’t writing them. Instead, on Lamentations he’s
making the political personal, reaching out to humanize folks with
opposing viewpoints, and offering dignity instead of demonizing. The
result is the strongest writing of Barham’s already stout career.
“I’m still very much standing up for what I believe in––I
don’t think anyone can question what side of the aisle I stand
on,” he says. “But hopefully people listen and at least try to
understand why their Sunday School teacher wears a Trump hat.”
Barham has built a fiercely devoted fanbase hundreds of thousands
strong, fortified with 15 years of sold-out American Aquarium shows
across the country and Europe. The band’s 2018 release Things Change
strode confidently into that distinct territory where rock-and-roll
and politics meet, prompting Rolling Stone to announce Barham “earns
every bit of his Southern Springsteen cred.” In 2019, the American
Aquarium lineup also shifted again: Shane Boeker remains on guitar,
and bassist Alden Hedges, keys player Rhett Huffman, pedal steel ace
Neil Jones, and drummer Ryan Van Fleet joined the group. A beloved
live band known for consistently playing at least 200-250 dates a
year, American Aquarium chose to be more selective in 2019, winnowing
the schedule to 92 shows. For Barham, sober for six years now, is a
dad to a toddler and still happily married, the adjustment was a must.
“We’re learning how to balance being in our mid-30s and being
rock-and-rollers,” he says. “Being home was the most rewarding
experience. It allowed me to be creative and write about things that
really matter.” Lamentations reflects that elevated focus. Barham,
who is no longer religious but was raised Southern Baptist, wrote down
the word “lamentations” in 2018, and knew it’d be his next album
title before he’d written a single song for the record. He felt an
anchoring connection to the word itself––defined as “the
passionate expression of grief or sorrow”––but also to the Old
Testament book in the Bible. “Lamentations is one of the few books
in the Bible where there’s this doubt of God––this guy, crying
out to the heavens, like, Why? If you love us so much, why did you let
Jerusalem fall to Babylon? ” Barham says. “I saw a direct
correlation between that and a Southern man today who voted for Trump.
I wanted to write about a broken America and all the things that lead
a human being to doubting something. Every song on this record touches
on something a little different.” Album opener “Me and Mine
(Lamentations)” is brooding and stormy, plaintive acoustic guitar
undergirding Barham’s weathered vocals. Searching, frustrated, and
sad, the song was written from the perspective of a conservative
Southern voter who feels unseen, unheard, and short on hope. The
broader message is immersive and immediate: Settle in and listen
closely. Times are hard, and this record is going to talk about it.
Barham, who doesn’t agree with the song’s protagonist politically,
imbues him with respect and sympathetic fatigue. “There are so many
people who come out nowadays and say, If you voted this way, you’re
a racist. You’re a misogynist. You’re a nationalist ,” he says.
“But that was my teacher, my librarian, my uncle. I know they
aren’t bigots. So instead of saying, You’re a bad person because
you did this , I want to know why you did this. I want to talk to you
about this.” Upbeat guitar rocker “Dogwood” follows, with a
tragic story wrapped up in singalong lines. Barham points to the song
and “Luckier You Get,” with its Springsteen vibes and an ear-worm
chorus, as two of the album’s more lighthearted moments. “Bright
Leaf” is another musical moment ready for a crowd, offering a
clear-eyed look at the tobacco farms and industry of Barham’s home
through sharp lyrics that thousands will shout-sing right back at him.
Featuring wry pedal steel and a shuffling back beat, “Better
South” is an alternative anthem, written and sung by a native
Southerner who believes in change. Line after line, “Starts with
You” shows off Barham’s self-deprecating wit: “They say you’re
only as sick as your secrets / If that’s the truth then, friend,
I’m dying / Spent a lifetime salvaging shipwrecks, / Falling so long
I thought I was flying.” Throughout the record, the only victim of
Barham’s harsh tongue is himself. Heartbreaking “How Wicked I
Was” pleads for narrative omissions when it comes to explaining the
past to his little girl. Album highlight “Learned to Lie” cuts
just as deep: Barham delivers a gut-wrenching confession over lonely
piano. Raw and intimate, its look at how we hurt the ones we love
evokes the unblinking candor of 60s and 70s Loretta Lynn––that
extreme honesty Barham first valued in country music, and now misses.
“That was one of the first songs I played for the boys in the band,
and they were like, ‘Are you sure you want to record that?’”
Barham says. “It’s a hard song to talk about. It’s a heavy song.
For better or worse, I’m going to be real with you live. I’m
probably going to make you uncomfortable. And that I think that’s a
beautiful part of rock-and-roll.” “Six Years Come September” is
another heartbreaker, masquerading at first as a familiar story before
a sobering plot twist. “As a songwriter, that’s the best feeling
in the world––ruining someone with lyrics and a well-executed
story,” Barham says. He points to album closer “Long Haul” as a
frontrunner for his own favorite track. Perhaps the closest the record
comes to jubilation, “Long Haul” rolls through three steadfast
commitments Barham holds true and dear. Ultimately, Lamentations is a
thrilling portrait of an artist and his band reaching new levels of
skill, consciousness, and potential after 20 years in the trenches.
Unruly and sincere, Barham emerges as an important American
voice––and an unlikely peacemaker. “I’ve had to work really
hard to carry water as a songwriter,” he says. “It feels really
good to be in my mid-30s, writing songs that I think matter. I think
when you listen to this record, something is going to change in you.
You’re going to feel something. That’s the most important part of
songwriting: making someone feel.
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29/05/2020 Last update