Last year I took my son to his first concert, to see the Drive-By Truckers. He’s pretty easy-going when it comes to genre, and enjoyed the band when I would play them around the house. I wish the show was a better experience for him, though – the band was loud to the point of clipping, with little to no stage presence, just ripping through song after song like they just wanted to get it over with. I don’t think they said one word besides “Goodnight.” There was one shining, bright spot though: the opening band. It was our first ever exposure to American Aquarium, and they played like their lives depended on it. It was, in a word, glorious, the kind of show you dream of when you see a band. We all bought t-shirts, I got to introduce myself and my son to leader BJ Barham, and we became there and then fans for life. The TL;DR: there was no way The Fear Of Standing Still wasn’t going to make this list.

Surprise (no surprise): in a year that had new releases from both Sturgill Simpson and Paul Cauthen this was the country album that shined brightest for me, an all-timer from the band. Starting with “Crier” American Aquarium hits a lot of the same rock-driven highs of DBT, but Barham’s voice has…something. It’s undefinable, but when the grit in his voices catches on lines like “Life is pals when pain / and it’s okay to be a crier” that same grit catches in my throat, gets in my eye. It’s an unabashedly open and honest album, and even when lyrically the songs are as plain as the nose on your face you can’t help but pull the notes and melodies into your life. I still can’t get though the heartfelt ode to the mess and build of love between two people on “Messy As A Magnolia” or the kick you in the balls lament of “The Curse Of Growing Old” without choking up.

Musically there are a lot of small touches that elevate The Fear Of Standing Still above a lot of the run of the mill country that still seems to pervade the industry. I love the guitar line that opens the gentle “Cherokee Purples” and the gorgeous harmonizing by guest Katie Pruitt on “Southern Roots” and the backwards guitar that colors the track with subtle shades of psychedelia. The honky town that colors closer “Head Down, Feet Moving” brings the album to a raucous end.

But the star of the show is Barham, and his lyrics. Never content to trade in cliche or play both sides by keeping to safety, he brings a level of honesty, of compassion and empathy in every single line, whether it’s the pain of being away from family on the title track or redefining and breaking out of cultural stereotypes on “Southern Roots” (goddamn that line “If there’s one thing I’ve found / You can’t change the way you sound / You can only change the words that you choose” is so beautiful). It’s hard to pinpoint a favorite moment throughout an album that has this many highs, but for me, at this moment on Christmas Eve as I watch my wife who for over 30 years has seen me broken and still found enough worth to help rebuild me, it has to the be “Piece By Piece”. It’s impossible to stay guarded when confronted with music this naked, and for that empathy, for the moment with my son I will hold forever, I am eternally indebted to American Aquarium, reminding me that the fear of standing still can be overcome if your heart is open to it.

Merry Christmas, everyone.