BJ Barham, singer of Raleigh’s boisterous, barhopping American Aquarium, is not a classy songwriter. His exes are always hussies. He swears frequently, brooding through a rasp that’s something like Springsteen if he’d grown up on Kentucky bourbon and a pack a day. But this style allows him access into gritty issues as he probes the hypocrisy of small-town life in the South with the poignancy of a hopeless romantic and the down-to-earth charm of a trusted drinking buddy. His band gives the songs traction, rumbling through the country side of Americana with jangling piano and aching pedal steel.
