Decades into a flourishing music career, BJ Barham finds balance as he gears up for the 10th Roadtrip to Raleigh weekend of shows.
by David Menconi | Photographs by Joey Wharton, courtesy American Aquarium

A decade ago, BJ Barham was frustrated. Years of constant touring had built his band, American Aquarium, into a live act that could sell out large clubs and theaters across America, except in one particular city: their hometown of Raleigh.

Barham’s solution was to import that sellout crowd, summoning the band’s fans from afar for a weekend of shows. An immediate hit, “Roadtrip to Raleigh” has become a signature annual event, drawing fans from more than 40 states and three foreign countries last year. All three of this year’s shows, which are Feb. 6-8 at Lincoln Theatre, sold out long before opening acts were even announced.

Problem solved.

“I’ve always had to do things the hard way,” Barham says. “Went through 99 ‘no’s’ for every ‘yes.’ But it’s been the right way, and worth it. No shortcuts, because you have to give up a piece of yourself that way, and I’m still pretty intact. We’ve stacked Roadtrip pretty big for the 10-year anniversary, so much so that it will be difficult to outdo next year.”

No surprise that Barham is already thinking about 2026, because he’s always been obsessively hands-on about running his career. He’ll go the extra mile for the fanbase, doing things like curating a restaurant guide for Raleigh visitors. And one of Barham’s more creative merchandise evergreens is to sell sheets of handwritten lyrics to his songs, which American Aquarium fans buy in droves as Christmas presents every year.

A native of the textile town of Reidsville, Barham came to Raleigh more than 20 years ago as a teenager to attend North Carolina State University. He didn’t last long as a college student, but music was an occupation, even as it took a long time for him to find his feet. Early versions of American Aquarium (named after a line in Wilco’s 2002 song “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart”) were rough, in large part because of the frontman’s bad habits.

Now 10 years sober at age 40, Barham lives a healthy life these days. But he had a notorious reputation back in the day. Lincoln Theatre general manager Chris Malarkey, who has booked American Aquarium countless times over the past two decades, recalls walking an inebriated Barham home after paying him for shows because he didn’t want the young man stumbling around downtown alone with a pocketful of cash.

“American Aquarium’s first few shows were just godawful,” Malarkey remembers with a laugh. “But still, you could see that BJ had something. He’s more driven than anyone I’ve ever met, and he’s one of the greatest at selling himself. Put him onstage for an hour and not many can go toe-to-toe with him. He also sells more merch than anybody I’ve ever seen.

“Seeing him go from mess to success has been amazing,” Malarkey says. “I’m not his dad, but I’m proud of that kid.”

American Aquarium has always been Barham’s show; he is the sole constant as other members have come and gone. The rest of the lineup on American Aquarium’s most recent album, 2024’s The Fear of Standing Still, is guitarist Shane Boeker, keyboardist Rhett Huffman and pedal-steel guitarist Neil Jones, with a rhythm section of Ryan Van Fleet and Alden Hedges on drums and bass.

“I guess we’re ‘Americana,’” Barham says. “Or ‘roots rock,’ maybe? We’re a rock band with pedal-steel guitar and a redneck out front singing about feelings. So it’s a bastardized form of country.”

Almost every American Aquarium song has Barham singing alone. The Fear of Standing Still covers highly adult subjects like impending mortality, bumpy relationships and the trouble men have expressing themselves. But for all its maturity, the album also rocks hard, thanks to producer Shooter Jennings (son of the late country-rock icon Waylon Jennings).

“Even though the songs are about grown-up things, they’re also loud and upbeat with me yelling,” Barham says. “Twenty years ago, I never would’ve believed you if you’d told me I’d someday do a loud song about toxic masculinity.”

The song about toxic masculinity is “Crier,” the album’s opening song. Barham wrote it, and the rest of these 10 songs, on a writing retreat. It’s his usual method of gathering material for an album: he’ll go to some remote spot to work, in this case, a house on Long Island during the off-season.

“I’ll spend the year taking notes,” he says. “Voice recordings, notes on the iPhone. Then every 18 months, I sit down and see what I’ve got. It’s like A Beautiful Mind, putting shit up on the whiteboard and connecting dots about what I want to say about the last two years of my life. Records are like audio yearbooks. Like Dances for the Lonely in 2009, I remember what that kid felt. Wolves in 2015, that guy was making some life choices. There are career-spanning moments on stage every night, songs I wrote at 20. I’m not that person anymore, but I can put on cowboy boots and a pearl snap for three minutes, then move along.”

Barham has released a total of 17 albums (all but one under the American Aquarium banner) on his own label, Losing Side Records, a couple of which cracked the main Billboard charts. The group played 71 live shows last year, a healthy figure but still a fraction of the 306 that American Aquarium played at its road-warrior peak in 2012.

The fact that they can play fewer shows is a point of pride for Barham, because it gives him time at home in Wendell with his wife and their daughter Pearl. Already a savvy traveler at age 6, Pearl has visited 41 states and is her dad’s frequent sidekick at Wolfpack sporting events.        

“After working my ass off in my 20s and 30s, I’ve learned I can hit the brakes some and the car still goes forward,” he says. “A new technique called ‘coasting.’ I don’t want to be on the road all the time. I’ve never missed any of Pearl’s dance recitals, birthdays, school plays, holidays.”

As for what’s next, Barham sums that up with “Head Down, Feet Moving,” the last song on The Fear of Standing Still: I promise I’ll keep showing up just as long as you do. 

This article originally appeared in the February 2025 issue of WALTER magazine.