“You taught me that there was more to life than a constant state of motion
Introduced me to the fine art of staying in one place
So when the fear of standing still asks if I like the path I've chosen
I find the answers in the corners of the smile on your face”

-- “The Fear Of Standing Still” by BJ Barham

The thing about Bruce Springsteen is, he was uniquely positioned at a unique point in time to do what he did. Both a born storyteller and a traditionalist rock and roller at a time when the genre was splintering, he spun out novelistic tales in his songs, rich with layers of vivid imagery and powerful, complicated emotions. Friendships torn apart by circumstance, young lovers desperate to escape a small town, fathers and sons, and the weight of heritage: how it shapes us and how we fight it just the same.

Singer-songwriter BJ Barham, the founder and storytelling voice at the heart of American Aquarium, has never shied away from acknowledging what his music owes to Springsteen. There’s a vibrancy, craft and appealing grit to Barham’s songs that makes the best of them feel like they’re pumping the spirit of Darkness On The Edge of Town through their veins, a searingly potent blend of desperation and hope. Here, Barham channels all of those traits into a song cycle about loneliness, fear, and the redemptive power of love.

Barham and his band—named after a Wilco lyric and for once appearing settled into the powerful yet versatile lineup of Shane Boeker (guitar), Rhett Huffman (keys), Neil Jones (pedal steel), Ryan Van Fleet (drums) and Alden Hedges (bass)—have issued a series of albums over the past decade that have each advanced the group’s musical cause in some way: sharper lyrics, stronger arrangements, more fluid yet precise performances. Again and again they’ve reached for something a little bit bolder and sharper and better, and I’m hoping that striving will continue, but it’s also true to say that their tenth studio album The Fear Of Standing Still represents the pinnacle of American Aquarium’s recorded work to date, an album of breathtaking power and sinewy ease, a blue-jeaned, plain-spoken work of art.

Credit must go to producer Shooter Jennings, a master at keeping things simple and focused exactly where these songs should be: on the stories being told and the emotions roiling inside them. Opener and first single “Crier” is a brilliant construction, an urgent, muscular anthem aimed at exposing the toxic undercurrents of American masculinity, with the band lending a huge rock and roll surge as Barham wails “Dealing with our feelings is essential to survival / Hell, it’s right there in the shortest verse in the Bible.”

“I’d set a match to a second chance so fast, it’ll take your breath away,” sings Barham on the easygoing, steadily pushing “Messy As A Magnolia,” before crediting his partner for the save: “She ran into a house on fire to offer up some help / Saw something inside of me that I still can’t see in myself.” Here and elsewhere, the sandy edges of Barham’s vocal instrument only accentuate the emotion infused in memorable lines like “What part of I ain’t leaving don’t you understand.”

Nostalgia takes the wheel for “Cherokee Purples” as Barham slips inside a vivid memory of summer days at his grandmother’s house, an airy number lit up by a silvery, lilting riff that lands the listener right there in her kitchen. “The Getting Home” is a widescreen four-on-the-floor rocker essaying the road warrior’s dilemma: you’re lonely on the road and restless when you’re home. The surging music behind Barham is majestic, yearning and melancholy all at once, making that first paragraph above feel all but inevitable.

Still, the most memorable song here is probably “Southern Roots,” a stunner in the Jason Isbell-Patterson Hood tradition of Southern white dudes trying to do better, co-written by Barham and Katie Pruitt, who contributes harmony vocals. Over a shimmery backdrop of acoustic guitar, slide, piano and organ, Barham sings of being “haunted by the history,” observing that “If there’s one thing I found / You can’t change the way you sound / You can only change the words you choose.” It’s already haunting before Boeker’s warbly, arcing electric guitar notes cap it off.

Continuing his push through one tough subject after another, Barham tackles mortality on “The Curse of Growing Old,” a steady-on mid-tempo number with bracingly direct lyrics: “The only thing more terrifying / Than coming face to face with dying / Is learning there’s a price we all must pay / For another day.” (That price is change, and losing loved ones along the way.) The title track opens with this brilliant line—“The sky today was an extra special shade of lonely”—before digging into a somber, insightful tune about the loneliness of the road life, the tug of home, and the restlessness underneath it all, a song that ultimately distills things down to a simple plea: “Don’t go. Please stay.”

The redemptive power of love is again the focus for “Piece By Piece,” a piano ballad about a lover rescuing him from himself. “You pulled me put of a hole I’d been digging,” sings Barham, “Smiled and said you ain’t gonna get rid of me that easy.” The country-rock elements of the group’s sonic palette then come to the fore on “Babies Having Babies,” a moving, naturalistic tale of young love, hard choices and consequences.

Barham and band close things out strong with “Head Down, Feet Moving,” a celebratory, hard-charging rocker featuring big, fuzzy electric guitar and barrelhouse piano. “Nothing that came easy ever stood the test of time,” he declares, telling the audience that “I promise I’ll keep showing up just as long as you do / I'll keep screaming out my secrets if you swear to sing along.”

It’s a beautiful coda celebrating the communion between performer and audience, the connection that bands like American Aquarium chase after every night. There are no easy songs here, and no wasted words either. BJ Barham and American Aquarium have made an album animated by a fearless integrity and lit up with magnificent performances. That said, in the end it all comes down to heart, and The Fear Of Standing Still has enough of that to embrace us all.

Rating: A

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