B.J. Barham Shares Heartbreaking, Heartwarming Tales Behind Vivid Songwriting

by Julian Spivey

Aprille Hanson-Spivey Photo

For the last decade now, B.J. Barham has been one of my favorite storytellers via the songwriting he does for his rock-Americana-alt-country band American Aquarium. Barham writes the kind of stuff that’s true to life in all its grittiness and pain and makes you feel the songs in your bones because you’ve lived them or known folks who have lived them.
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I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Barham’s raucous rock shows with American Aquarium numerous times – usually at least once a year when they come to Little Rock, Ark., and once I even got to see a short songwriters in the round event with him where he and two other singer-songwriters performed songs and told the stories behind them. But I hadn’t had the honor of seeing him perform solo until he made a trip to the magical White Water Tavern in Little Rock on Saturday, March 15.

It wasn’t the typical, energetic, shout the lyrics back toward the stage show I’m accustomed from Barham’s band, but it was a different kind of special – one in which you’re entranced by the man’s words, not just in song form but fascinating, emotional, devastating and often hilarious monologues about the family members and life’s moments that inspired some of his best work.

I’d heard some of these tales before – as he’ll often do a song or two alone on stage during his band shows – but I'd never heard most of the stories behind the songs.

There were tales about how something as simple as a sandwich can take you back decades in your mind (“Cherokee Purples”), the devastation of losing a child via miscarriage (“Chicamacomico”), tales of addiction and sobriety (“One Day At a Time”) and what addiction has wrought on relationships (“When We Were Younger Men”) and family trauma, whether it’s a cycle of teenage pregnancy (“Babies Having Babies”), growing old and outliving all the ones you love (“The Curse of Growing Old”) or how then loss of a parent can hit you hard, especially during different times of the year (“The First Year”).

Barham had tales we all need to hear about how it’s OK to show emotions and cry, despite generations of men, particularly in the South, claiming it to be a sign of weakness and something that should be tamped down inside of one. This inspired “Crier,” which he co-wrote with Stephen Wilson Jr. and appeared on American Aquarium’s latest album The Fear of Standing Still.

There were many moments throughout the evening that Barham revealed his storytelling skills went further than songwriting and that he easily could’ve been a stand-up comedian had the band not panned out (though he claimed he would’ve been a lawyer). Stories about how his mom repeated the “go fuck yourself” line to his teacher that had previously gotten him in trouble in school or retelling tales of a Burt Reynolds-esque uncle had the sold out room at the White Water in stitches in between tales that would also bring a tear to your eye, like losing his mother to opioid addiction.

Saturday night’s show made me realize how much I’d love to read a memoir or a novel by Barham if he ever decides to write tales longer than three to four minutes and set to melody.

The 13-song set ended with the same song he told the audience he’d finished every single show since 2011 with: “Burn.Flicker.Die,” the epic track off American Aquarium’s 2012 album of the same name. Barham credits this track with saving his band and his musical career, thanks to some input from fellow musician Jason Isbell, who produced the album.

It was a fantastic way to cap an unforgettable, at times heartbreaking, and at times heartwarming evening of storytelling. It helped me understand and respect some of these tales, which I’ve loved since the first time I heard them.