MWE Week One: American Aquarium, Eric Church and Janelle Monae
Self-destruction to sobriety, the making of a legend, and the overlooked, but no less special sophomore project.
American Aquarium: The Bible and The Bottle, Dances For The Lonely and burn.flicker.die
Spoilers for my albums list, I guess, but American Aquarium’s Lamentations is pretty handily in the Top 5. It’s a tremendous album for reasons I will cover in-depth when the time comes, but it got me interested in this band’s past material and what they offered with a decently extensive catalog with many considering some of their albums outright classics.
But I was also interested in BJ Barham’s progression throughout his career, as Lamentations was an album with a lot of years behind it. Barham had a similar trajectory as Jason Isbell, starting out as a self-destructive alcoholic before hitting the breaks and growing as a person once he decided to go sober. It’s no coincidence that burn.flicker.die in particular was produced by none other than Isbell himself. The two have a lot in common, but while Isbell’s story was more about his anger issues and struggle with accepting that he can change and isn’t a lost cause, Barham’s story is more about coping with heartbreak and indulging in rock and roll lifestyle in a way that’s unhealthy and reckless.
The Bible And The Bottle give us a glimpse of that. While it’s not their debut, it’s certainly their breakout album where a lot of the sound they’ll eventually be known for starts to take place. There’s some fun, rowdy honky-tonk jams sprinkled throughout that are mainly there to raise glasses and get people singing along. The compositions are great, these songs are all catchy and bouncy even if the production value can be a bit rough. It’s kind of a safe haven in terms of drinking songs from these guys, as while songs like “Clark Avenue” definitely amp up the energy and wild circumstances, it’s on a level that feels more controlled and lighthearted. Though I tended to gravitate the most toward some of the slower, more reflective songs like “Bible Black October” and “Monsters”, my two favorites of the album outside the spectacular opener “Down Under”. Though there were moments that made me raise my eyebrow as I went through the album, mainly in its attitude toward women. It’s not on a level that’s misogynistic, thankfully, but there seems to be a bitter resentment towards relationships or people who have broken Barham’s heart. Like the way he dismisses his partner’s trust on “Tellin’ A Lie” or his sleazy one night stand on “Clark Avenue”. It wasn’t enough to paint the album in a bad light were there, but they were the seeds that helped me prepare for the next album.
Dances With The Lonely is garbage. I don’t mean that in a negative way, or even to imply the album’s quality. In fact, I think Dances With The Lonely is a fantastic album. It’s packed to the brim with wildfire energy and personality, with plenty of songs that are a blast to sing along or cry to. It’s a fantastic album, and it is hot garbage. The recklessness and angst from The Bible And The Bottle goes from wild, but in control, so unhinged and kind of reprehensible. Barham described the album as twelve different ways of saying “fuck you” to one girl, and that kind of relentless pettiness is all over the album. The songs are louder, the grooves are heavier, the heartbreak is more over the top, and the attitude is sickening. This album makes Barham look like a massive jackass who wastes his time getting drunk and fucking random girls only to demean and shit on them once they realize what a mess he is. Remember when I said there was a bitter attitude simmering underneath The Bible And The Bottle? On Dances For The Lonely, that bitterness and misogyny is obscene. There are so many songs about hooking up with slutty girls only for him to get upset when they decide to move on to someone else, or fuck the next horny rock star that comes their way. It’s actually kind of insane to hear these spiteful lyrics coming Barham, especially with my first introduction to him being an album six years after his sobriety. These girls are barley legal too. There’s no one, not two, but multiple instances of Barham hooking up with eighteen year old girls or girls young enough that he’d need to sneak them into the bar. Don’t panic, when this album was released, Barham was twenty-four. Which… Well, that’s still predatory and not all that great, but it could have been worse I guess? It’s this kind of dilemma with how relentlessly unlikable Barham is that made me wonder if it was appropriate to like this album at all. It indulged in so many ugly impulses and only reinforces the unfortunate stereotype of rock-adjacent bands creeping on impressionable young girls for easy sex. Then again, Barham does clearly come off as the loser on these songs, especially ones where he moans about girls breaking his heart. On “PBR Prominade” in particular, he outright mentions that the girl was eighteen while he was pushing twenty-three, and he spends the song crying over the fact that she promised him forever only to leave him a broken mess. Like, what did you expect dude? She’s barely an adult, of course a fling with an older guy like you wouldn’t work out. Most of this album’s negative energy stems back to this one girl who really broke his heart, and the pain he felt over her leaving is what triggered these series of hook-ups and drunken nights where he can never find anyone who loves him the same way she did. And he’s clearly bitter about it, as he’ll wish she gets her heart broken by her new man in the same way that she hurt him (sounds familiar?), and its followed by the album closer, “Tennessee”, where he directly confronts the betrayal he felt when she abandonded him. Though he blames her for breaking her promise, there’s still the quiet acceptance that he was the one who failed her. After all, a lot has changed in one year.
The album I ended this dive into American Aquarium’s discography is burn.flicker.die, an album meant to have been the band’s swan song before splitting up. They had reached a point of exhaustion and anguish to where everything was bound to fall apart. So they went out with one last hurrah, with production help from Jason Isbell as they prepare to go in a blaze of glory. This album managed to pick up a really big cult following after its release, and it became beloved enough that eventually the band would reunite and continue to put out new music in the years to come. Still, if this really had been their final send-off, I’d say they went out on a bang. burn.flicker.die is abosolutely spectacular. All the best elements of The Bible And The Bottle and Dances With The Lonely with better production than the former and less objectionable content from the latter. You still have your rowdy Southern rock jams primed for bar singalongs, but this time the album feels a lot healthier. Still in its trenches of loneliness, but with a bit more introspection and understanding of why these relationships didn’t work. He’s still flirting with groupies and having wild nights out, but they’re more self-aware of the real stakes and they’re simply a fun distraction. The album closes out all of the loose ends and simply ends to go off with a bang, celebrating the bar-hopping life while learning to grow up and be a better person. This album and in turn Lamentations are why I didn’t feel morally offended by Dances With The Lonely. It was clearly written in a dark place, and it didn’t take long for Barham to wise up and be more in control of himself. In fact, this is the last album American Aquarium made before Barham’s sobriety beginning in 2014. So in a way, it does feel like an evolution in Barham as an artist and as a person to where his days of rowdy bar surfing are over. From now on, he’s on the path to settling down and turning over a new leaf.
Which has made this dive into American Aquarium’s early years really interesting. I started with this band on Lamentations when Barham was already six-years sober and reflecting on the sins of his past. Now that I have more context to that past, it really makes me appreciate how far Bahram has come from his early twenties. From being a bit of a brat with an unchecked sex addiction to someone who genuinely strives to be better and be there for the new relationship he has. It’s not like his wild child past is deplorable or awful though because, at the end of the day, there is something fun about going to bars, getting drunk, and finding strangers to spend the night with. Barham’s problem ran deeper than just being an alcoholic, and him learning to shake that off and be a better man is really encouraging. Evidently, I can think of someone who could learn from all this. And for his sake, I hope he does. There’s fun to be had with the kind of music you get on albums like Dances With The Lonely, but the second you put yourself and others in danger, it’s good to step back and reevaluate yourself. You’ll be better for it in the long run.
Eric Church: Sinners Like Me, Carolina, and The Outsiders
I’ve always considered Eric Church one of my all-time favorite country artists, but that felt kind of wrong to say. Despite the fact that Mr. Misunderstood was the first country album I truly loved and I consider “Record Year” to be my favorite country song period, I felt like I was missing a huge chunk of his music due to starting out on Mr. Misunderstood. Sure, last year I went through Chief and loved it, but my only other Eric Church album before then was Desperate Man, an album I liked and has grown on me, but also not one that fully showed off his talent and potential. I was still missing his early albums as well as his awkward middle child The Outsiders. With the upcoming release of Heart & Soul, Eric Church’s big triple album already on its way to being one of the best albums of the year, I guess now is a good of a time as any to see if Eric Church really does deserve to be named one of my all-time favorite country artists.
The short answer is yes. Obviously. Not only is the guy talented, he was talented right out of the gate. He knew exactly what kind of music he wanted to make, and he excelled at it. Sure, he wears his influences pretty proudly on his sleeve, his biggest hit is called “Springsteen” after all, but I think Church has not only transcended those influences to create his own unique sound but also mastered it basically right away. I won’t mince words, Sinners Like Me is one of the best albums of the 2000s hands down. It starts off strong with one hell of an opener and never lets up. The production is rowdy and full of rock and roll swagger while having enough twang to belong in the country conversation, the writing already takes some bold chances and doesn’t resort to clichés to keep the party rolling, and Eric Church’s voice has that unique rasp that’s instantly recognizable. In the years he’s had hits within Nashville, nobody has ever done it like him. And yet, I’ve found a handful of moments and writing tricks within this album that would translate to some of the biggest country artists of today. After all, Luke Combs has pinned Eric Church as his own personal hero. Same with Morgan Wallen (yes, yes, I know, I know). There’s not much else that can be said about Sinners Like Me. It’s a blast from front to back. Essential listening if you want to get into country music but tend to prefer things on the rock side.
Carolina leans a bit more on the country side but still has its fair share of fantastic songs. It’s got a lot of the same rowdiness that Sinners Like Me had, but is a bit more mellow and contemplative, focusing on the hometown and settling down a bit with a girl that he’s grown to love, even if she indulges a bit in his bad-boy behavior. I like Carolina a little less because the writing isn’t as sharp and it isn’t quite as sticky as the best hooks and grooves on Sinners Like Me, but this is still quintessential Eric Church. The production is still top-notch, Eric Church’s voice continues to hold your attention, and every song is great to excellent.
The magic of Eric Church is that he can balance the appeal of a rugged badass while still having the heart and patience to show his humanity. He just likes a good time. He’s not a dick, he’s not gonna kill you if you look at him funny, he’s just… cool. The kind of guy you don’t want to mess with, but also you kinda want to be friends with. Both of these albums have big party “don’t give no fucks” songs, but they’re not really malicious or juvenile, they’re just letting loose and making a few dangerous choices. This makes Eric Church not only incredibly easy to like but with how good his voice sounds over the shredding guitars and his wonderful backing vocal band, it makes him fun to be around. It’s like American Aquarium if BJ Barham was less of a dick.
And from here, Eric Church’s career path is pretty clear cut. Chief is the peak of Eric Church’s career where his ruckus party side notches a few minor hits and even lands a really big one with his windswept tribute to Bruce Springsteen and how music creates unforgettable memories. He gets older on Mr. Misunderstood, gets a bit more contemplative, and shows his nerdier outcast side. On Desperate Man, he becomes wiser and learns to take things one step at a time. I don’t know what themes Heart & Soul will bring to the table, but based on the singles he’s released for each part, they seem to embody everything his career has built up to, whether they’re the rowdier party songs or the soulful traveler songs. All of these albums are great, and I’m more than comfortable calling Eric Church one of my favorite artists, not even just within the genre. He doesn’t have a single dud in his discography…
… kind of.
I waited to talk about The Outsiders until now because like… it’s weird. Really weird. I can’t really explain what happened between this and Chief. It’s not like he changed producers, Jay Joyce was always part of the magic behind Eric Church’s music. There is a second producer on the album, but I don’t know how much influence he had over the production. And it’s not like the music is bad… mostly… Again, it’s just weird. The Outsiders leans pretty heavily toward the rock angle of Eric Church’s music, with a lot of the country elements getting muted in favor of crunchier guitars and the addition of an odd spoken-word cadence meant to drive up a sinister atmosphere… for some reason. The thing is, it’s not like the album is all that bad. In fact, I’d kinda argue it’s pretty good! Obviously, the weakest of his albums, as the production doesn’t hit as hard and the rock elements are faultier than usual, but when you get the nostalgia of “Talladega”, some fun and creative production tricks on “Broken Record”, the ruckus, wild, and frankly awesome scale of “Devil, Devil”, and of course the really potent melancholy of “Give Me Back My Hometown”, you’re bound to find one song on this you really really like. At the same time, the worst songs on this album are… woof. Part of the reason The Outsiders isn’t all that great is because of its bizarre production choices. The mixing is a bit weird, there are some intense vocal effects added on Eric Church’s voice that are clearly made for live shows, and some of the choices made for certain songs are utterly confusing. “Cold One” is the most immediate example, which starts out fine enough until the chorus comes in and exposes a circus of horns and out of tune guitar melodies, easily Eric Church’s worst-ever song. “That’s Damn Rock And Roll” is a fucking mess, every instrument sounds piled on to each other, and Eric Church’s weird sing-talking doesn’t help. And the album bafflingly ends with “The Joint”, practically a joke song about getting high with a trombone tooting in the background like a cartoon. I don’t know why these songs exist, why Eric Church thought they’d work with the album’s attempt to be an outlaw anthem, why the fuck “Cold One” was ever released as a single only for it to peak at a pitiful #88, but whatever it was, it was an experiment that didn’t work. I’m surprised this album didn’t halt Eric Church’s momentum completely.
I guess truth be told they did manage to pick the best songs as singles (mostly), and both “Give Me Back My Hometown” and “Talladega” did really well regardless, so Eric Church managed to keep enough goodwill to continue working even now. With Church being one of the most influential artists in Nashville and even being on his way to having another big hit with “Hell Of A View”, I’m hoping we will continue to see Church’s long, prosperous career.
The Electric Lady by Janelle Monae
The Electric Lady has always been a blind spot for me in Janelle’s discography. I’m not sure what put me off in the first place. Maybe it’s because I’ve heard this described as the weakest of her ArchAndroid trilogy, or just general laziness, but I just hadn’t heard enough about this album to seek it out until now. I knew it had to be good, “Dance Apocalyptic” was my jam for a couple months back in 2018, so I was bound to get to this eventually. Again, this is why I’m organizing MWE like this. I have no excuse not to keep putting off essential albums like this, especially if it comes from someone as undeniably talented as Janelle Monae.
This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I actually liked The Electric Lady a bit more than The ArchAndroid. That means nothing because all three albums are phenomenal, but I found myself more invested in this album’s vibe and hooks. I liked how eclectic and varied The ArchAndroid was, but something about this album’s old-school feel and its carefree party attitude made it really easy to fall in love with this album’s best moments. You can tell Monae has that Prince influence with the slick grooves and penchant for big, campy hooks, but the way she takes over every song and manages to be on an equal playing field to the man, myth, and legend himself is pretty fucking amazing. The ArchAndroid foreshadowed her star power potential, The Electric Lady cemented it. And the best aspects of both albums led to one of the best albums of the previous decade, Dirty Computer.
One of the most telling moments on the album is on one of the late radio interludes, where an anonymous caller tries to call Cindi’s music “queer” as an insult, leading to DJ Crash Crash to deflect it and brush over it as he moves on to the next song. You can tell there are hints of Janelle’s queerness sprinkled in her performance and expression, but it doesn’t quite peek out because it’s waiting for the right time to bloom. Which you could say is a flaw with the album, but I think it just helps close the bridge between this album and Dirty Computer, where Cindi embraced what society has deemed as her “malfunctions” and find true happiness in herself without the glitz and glam of the songs on this album. This doesn’t so much progress Cindi’s story as much as it simply revels in her image, and honestly, that’s okay. While I think the album could have been cut a tad shorter, I do really like having an album that’s not so concerned with furthering its own lore and instead just having a great time. That’s why my favorite songs on the album are “Dance Apocalyptic”, “The Electric Lady” and “Givin’ Em What They Love” (which is infuriatingly not on Spotify). You don’t have to think too hard about them, just revel in their vibes and let the melodies and Janelle’s incredible charisma take you away.
Next week: The extended theatricality and lore of Ayreon, the rocky, but solid legacy of the Zac Brown Band, and an exercise in self-deprecating pretentiousness with Father John Misty.