A while ago, I told myself I'd take a break from the steady stream of just-released music begging for my attention, go on a little trip down memory lane, and compose at least one "nostalgia review" per month for the enjoyment of those readers who really don't care how hip and current something is. (Not that most of the music I write about is all that hip... but most of it tends to be less than a year old at the time of writing.) Plus, quite frankly, it's just plain easier to write about albums that I've known and loved since my college days, having nearly every note and lyrics memorized, and being able to recall almost every little detail from memory. Nostalgia reviews are just plain more fun. So this is the first in what hopefully will be a series of diversions for this writer.

You've all heard of Sixpence None the Richer by now, and it's more than likely due to a lovey-dovey little song called "Kiss Me" that was simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever happen to them. That song is present on their self-titled album, which is the one I'm about to review, but despite how easy it was to characterize them as a one-hit wonder due to the massive use of this song in just about every romantic comedy for the five or so years after it became a hit, there is so much about this band, and particularly this album, that you'd just never guess from hearing that one song (or the follow-up single, an ill-advised cover of "There She Goes" by The La's). The simple fact is that none of this group's original songs, other than "Kiss Me", came anywhere close to making a cultural impact, so most folks would have no idea that Sixpence None the Richer emerged from the Christian music subculture, and even those who were aware of the "Christian band" tag had no idea what a dark horse they were within their own subculture. This was a group that had toiled in obscurity for many years, gaining respect among some more perceptive fans in the underground/alternative sub-sub-sub-niche of the Christian rock scene, but for the most part being misunderstood by potential fans as a band that was "too depressing". Yeah. That's right. Sixpence None the Richer - depressing. That was my initial take on them way back in 1995, when I took a chance on their previous album, This Beautiful Mess. And you know, there's a lot of merit to the more shadowy corners of the soul that they seek to illuminate with their lyrics - but I was too young to get that, or to really be patient with some of their slower, moodier songs. In any event, I certainly never expected anything remotely like "Kiss Me" from this band. I don't think most people did.

The album Sixpence None the Richer, originally released in 1997, and re-released in 1999 with a follow-up single tacked on that wasn't originally part of the album, is a bit of a head-scratcher on first listen. To the untrained ear, it sounds extremely dry. Limp, mellow drumming propels several of their songs along at a snail's pace, particularly in the weighty opening trilogy. Absolutely nothing else on the album sounds like "Kiss Me", and very little of it resembles the "edgier" songs from Sixpence's past, either - my initial take was that this album "anti-rocks", whatever that means. But give it some time and you'll discover a lot of little subtle flavors, thanks to the band's affinity for unexpected "incidentals" in the notes and chords that they choose, the occasional jazzy influence or richly emotional string arrangement, and every now and then, a track that's actually upbeat! This album was a sort of training ground for me; an invitation to take off the training wheels and stop requiring a catchy beat in order for a song to be enjoyable. It opened me up for a lot of favorite "slow burn" pop and rock albums that I'd discover in later years, and it also taught me the lesson I failed to realize when listening to This Beautiful Mess - that Christians deal with depression, too, and that's OK. They also fall in love, and have communication breakdown in their relationships, and doubt their own self-worth, and sometimes even get really bad deals from "Christian" record labels. All of those topics are touched upon in this record's 12 songs. (The 12 of the 13 that matter, anyway.)

For the three people who have somehow managed to never hear one of Sixpence's singles, I'll give you the following brief description - chirpy, somewhat innocent-sounding female vocals (provided by Leigh Nash, who at the time of this recording was a bright-eyed newlywed) against a mostly unadorned backdrop of drums, bass, and guitar, often playing something mellow and downtrodden-sounding, but with a true gift for building off an unassuming melody and giving it a convincingly emotional "swell" (guitarist Matt Slocum also plays cello and has a knack for arranging strings). Early 90's alternative-college-chick-pop acts like The Cranberries and 10,000 Maniacs aren't bad comparisons. It's definitely cerebral stuff that might get labeled "emo" if it came out five years later and was being sung by a slightly whiney male voice instead of such an enchantingly unusual female voice. (Everything that dares to express an emotion gets labeled "emo" these days, as if the ability to do so in a rock band is somehow a new thing.) Other than the vocals (which to some are an acquired taste), most of the sound doesn't scream "instant appeal", but given time, it can become a sound that you're willing to fiercely defend to those who only want to hear peppy, upbeat singles from a group like this. While I think 2002's Divine Discontent may have been their most consistent and accessible piece of work (and my personal favorite of their four albums), this disc probably remains their greatest artistic accomplishment - it pays off the patience that it requires of you in large dividends.

We Have Forgotten
Dreams, inconsistent angel things
Horses bred with star-laced wings
But it's so hard to make them fly, fly, fly...
I'll admit that the opening track doesn't initially appear to do this album any favors. Matt's electric guitar strumming is slow and dry, Dale's drumming is limp and lacks any punch or inventiveness, and there's some sort of weird synth gurgle going on underneath this rather beige musical landscape, just to tick off purists. It's the kind of song that you'd expect to hear buried in the back half of an album, to draw attention to front-loaded hit singles and away from filler material. But consider it in context, and Leigh's downtrodden singing about abandoned, useless dreams starts to make sense. The band had been through a lot in the years leading up the album, what with the financial collapse of their old label R.E.X. Records and the limbo it left their career in (which ironically also happened with Squint Records as they tried to prepare the follow-up to this album), so as they wrote this disc, they were likely trying to find a bit of hope amidst the frustration, and it takes a few "moody" songs to vent those feelings before moving on to see the silver lining in all of it. Things pick up father into this five-minute song, with Leigh's voice singing overlapping choruses (as if Matt had written two refrains and couldn't decide which to use, so he just interlaced them to see what would happen), and the muted buzz of the electric guitar playing off of the somber string arrangement.

Anything
We're all told to dance but we never picked the tune
Hanging like puppets, they feed us from bent steel spoons...
"This is my 45th depressing tune", sighs Leigh as the slightly more up-tempo guitar strum interrupts the fade-out of the previous song's muffled haze. Clearly someone's gotten a bit weary of going through the motions for a cruel boss who cares more about financial gain than making art. What starts out rather methodical and minimal turns a bit more poppy, with a guitar style akin to some of the poppier songs from the previous record, but there's still the sense that the song never quite "takes off". The plucking and sad swooping of strings adds a little bit to the atmosphere, but for the most part, this is the sound of a band nervous about whether they're currently writing their own swan song. All they want is some sort of clear direction from God about whether they're supposed to continue - "We should like to see a burning bush-type sign... or anything would be fine." It's the chorus that saves it from just being a myopic music industry diatribe, making it more relatable to anyone who's ever gone through a dry period when doing something they were once passionate about, and questioned whether God was trying to tell them to pack it up and move on to other pursuits.

The Waiting Room
Fight 'til your fists bleed, baby
Kick and scream at the wicked things, maybe
God will unlock the door you need to walk through...
The third song in the trilogy actually starts within the last few seconds of track 2 - the seamless way in which these songs were recorded makes the break between songs a bit nebulous, since the last weary note of "Anything" leads into the 6/8 rhythm and strangely "off" melody of "The Waiting Room". It's one of the best examples I can think of where Slocum has used an unpredictable chord sequence to give one of his songs a mystifying, somewhat disconcerting sound that almost offends the ear's expectation of a "logical" melody at first, but as the listener adapts to it, it takes on a strangely soulful, defiant quality. (If Leigh had more grit and sexiness to her voice, this could be an Over the Rhine song, I suppose.) This song is where the rubber meets the road in terms of the band asking themselves whether they have the faith and the tenacity to continue - Leigh keeps reiterating the mantra "Fight 'til your fists bleed, baby", but she's also very openly saying to God that they'll wait in this difficult spot until he gives them a clear go-ahead. The initial "dryness" of the album is starting to clear up as the generous string arrangement begins to flow through, making sense of the weary melody. This is the point where the album truly starts to shine.

Kiss Me
Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map...
After listening to those first three tracks, this mega-popular song can definitely seem like it's out of context - and it's true that this cheerfully organic love song, with its literary language about sunny country afternoons and frolicking in fields and looking up at the stars and so forth, and its irresistible D/Dmaj7/D7 hook, was initially a B-side that Matt Slocum was reluctant to put on the album, until someone apparently persuaded him to just let a good song be heard even if it was an uncharacteristically happy one for the band. (Yes, Matt Slocum wrote it, even though it appears to fit Leigh's female perspective so well - listen closely to the second verse and you'll notice a slight bit of gender confusion in terms of who's wearing what.) There's so much detail working together to make this the perfect pop song - the careful tapping of the drums leading to that unexpected little "smack!" before the jangly guitar solo, the sweet accordion (gee, all this time and I thought it was a harmonica!) during the bridge that immediately whisks you away to the porch of an old house somewhere in the deep South... man, I'll tell you, I could never get tired of this one. I say often that it's my favorite Sixpence song, and yet I do tend to get rather defensive when people act like it's their only song worth listening to that isn't a cover... I have my nostalgic reasons for liking it so much (I first heard it the same week that I experienced my first kiss, which was before it was released as a single, by the way), but I think it's a real travesty for people to assume they know what Sixpence is all about without hearing some of the more stunningly deep and artistic songs that they've written. I'll never be unhappy to hear it on the radio, but I'm definitely unhappy that most people never get to hear something else from these guys.

Easy to Ignore
You let your song blow right through me
Your mighty intellect makes you mighty hard to see...
Another relationship song follows, this time more of a bittersweet one. It's the only song that Leigh Nash wrote for this album, and it sort of foreshadows future "troubled relationship" songs that she would write such as "Down and Out of Time" or some of the material on her solo album. The fiddle playing keeps the Southern feel alive that was started by "Kiss Me", with more of a gentle acoustic strum providing the backbone. This is the more reflective side of Sixpence coming out at night time, when the silver moon and stars that this couple giddily fell in love underneath can no longer be seen, and she's left looking at the guy wondering whether he's waxing poetic because he's really in love with her, or because he's just full of himself. Leigh's sadder songs about relationships often don't appear to be break-up songs - they have more do with long-term committed couples who are going through rough spots and not communicating well with one another. You can definitely feel the urgency of her plea despite the quiet and meek way in which it's delivered - she really adores this guy, but she has to ask him whether he's in love with her, or with himself.

Puedo Escribir
Oir la noche inmensa, mas inmensa sin ella
Y el verso cae al alma, como al pasto el rocio...
One of the album's most puzzling, off-kilter, and thoroughly delightful gems starts off with a rather off-beat drum march that turns out to be played in 11/8 time. An ambling bass line and some fiery strings keep up with the weird, flailing rhythm, and Leigh begins to sing lines in Spanish that were paraphrased from a poem by Pablo Neruda, which when translated keeps the theme of a troubled night sky established in the previous song. She's definitely singing from the male perspective this time, as evidenced in her only English line in the song, which appears when the rhythm shifts to a really tricky, jittery version of 4/4 complete with some Spanish-influenced guitar chords: "Tonight I can write the saddest lines about her." But is it a guy singing about a girl who is out of his reach, or is something more spiritual going on here? Is this woman who inspires sad poetry really just to elusive night wind, or a more vague concept such as truth, nobility, wisdom? I don't know, but I'm so swept up in the drama that I don't mind not understanding some of the words that my rusty knowledge of Spanish renders me unable to translate.

I Can't Catch You
If I have to love myself, tell me how to love myself
What's there to love about myself?
I just want to see that, as a person, you want me...
Now see, there are other upbeat pop songs on this album other than "Kiss Me". Or at least, there's one such song. This one has more of a driving melody provided by the electric guitar - there's more of a nervous, jangly pop feel to it, and it could certainly be interpreted as a love song, but it's more about a desperate need than a cute feeling of wanting someone to stick around. Leigh doubts her self-worth again here, being honest before either God or a man that she loves, saying that she's afraid he'll see her for what she really is and vanish, taking his illuminating influence out of her life completely. There's a playful little guitar jam in the bridge here, just to remind you that even when the songwriters are a bit depressed, the band's not above having some lighthearted fun - Leigh even punctuates the chorus a bit with her airy "aaaaahhh"s. The chord progression in this song is one of those genius things that sounds effortlessly catchy and yet proves to be a bit unorthodox (yet quite fun to jam on with an acoustic guitar). This one was the rightful heir to "Kiss Me" when it came time to pick a second mainstream single - too bad it got the shaft because whoever decides these things didn't want to sit down and really listen to the album.

The Lines of My Earth
It should be our time
This fertile youth's black soil is ready for rain
The harvest is nigh, but the well has gone dry...
By now, hopefully you're at least a little impressed with Sixpence's ability to be stylistically diverse. This swaying little number plays like a vocal jazz tune filtered through Sixpence's alterna-pop sensibilities - the guitar and drums are pushed way back while a piano plunks out a lovely melody, giving the impression of a band playing their final sad song during last call in some smoky jazz club. If you didn't catch on to the jazz influence, hopefully the muted trumpet that joins in after the first chorus will clue you in. Once again, I'm hearing echoes of Over the Rhine from a time long before I had come to appreciate that band's work (I don't know if Sixpence was ever influenced by them, but the two groups are like-minded in several ways even though Sixpence is comparatively way more poppy and conventional). Matt's pulling no punches as he questions his future here - he bitterly declares by way Leigh's sad but lovely voice: "This is the last song that I write 'til you tell me otherwise, and it's because I just don't feel it any more." It was startling at the time, to a group of fans who were hoping this didn't mean Sixpence was calling it quits (Matt later mentioned in an interview that he had toyed with the idea of putting this one last on the album, just to rattle everyone). It's really just an echo of "The Waiting Room", stated in terms of an artist's admission that he can't be expected to sell out or phone it in if he's just not feeling a strong tie to his craft any more. And as frustrating as the waiting periods between albums became for some fans, I appreciate now that Sixpence wasn't the type of group to thoughtlessly churn out sound-alike albums - they were either going to put some real thought into their songcraft (occasional just-for-fun pop covers aside) or they weren't gonna do it at all.

Sister, Mother
I want to find
Where the maid in the street is pouring her wine
I heard she takes you in
And gives you the words you need said...
While there are some songs earlier in the album that seem dull upon first listen, I think this is the first example of a song on the album that truly fails. It's got too slow and straightforward of a rhythm, and it doesn't unfold into something subtly sweet like "We Have Forgotten" does. It's an important piece of the album in that it's the beginning of a less-obvious trilogy that appears near the end - an ode of sorts to "Sister Wisdom", whose role in the personal revival of these weary songwriters becomes more apparent in the songs that follow. The language here is a little more obviously religious, not in a cloying or cliched way, but simply in a humanitarian way, stating a desire to take care of those who are down and out like they are family. The song develops into something a little more full-bodied as it goes on, with its wispy strands of acoustic guitar floating about over the rhythm, but to me it still doesn't really feel like it "goes anywhere".

I Won't Stay Long
I know there's a way to get this another day
When will I know if there's a way for me?
I want to lie in the sand and have the sun shine on me
Is that way too much to ask?
The previous song fades out on the uneasy, lackadaisical strum of an E major chord, then an E minor, then back to E major and so on. It becomes the basis for this extremely short song, contributed by Samuel Ashworth, better known as the son of well-known producer Charlie Peacock. It too feels a bit limp, and even disorienting due to its major-minor wandering and stumbling percussion, but it's important if only for the small fact that it's one of the few "Christian" songs I can think of that openly admits to a struggle with depression. The plea "I know I am like this, oh Sister, show me what to do" forms a thematic bridge to the surrounding songs, which astute ears will notice are meant to be connected as the very last note of this short track is cut off by the drum beat which signals the beginning of the trilogy's end.

Love
The Harvester is near
His blade is on your skin
To plant a new beginning
Well, then let the cut begin...
This one's a classic that I overlooked for quite some time because it was too "slow". Forget about that, this one's got a pretty slick groove to it, with the smacking of drums and crashing of cymbals married to a throbbing bass line and some of the classic "swirly" guitar style that was prevalent on Sixpence's first two albums. This was one of the songs that probably helped to bridge old and new for pre-existing Sixpence fans, so it's strange that it took me so long to warm to it. Biblical imagery is a major factor once again here, describing the blade of a "Harvester" and making direct pleas to "Sister Wisdom" - it's all an attempt to see a painful situation as a bit of a pruning process that makes one a better person on the other end. The bridge here is absolutely luminous, with Leigh's sweet "Ooooohhhh..." slipping from E down to D and then C and the guitars getting more intense, before the song returns to its regular groove, right up until the sharp, pointed ending - it may all sound more subtle than it should for what is arguably the most rock-oriented song on the record, but I'm sure it was a blast to play in concert, as were older groove-heavy tracks such as "Within a Room Somewhere". (Even better is the "Rock Remix" of this song which infuses a pronounced, distorted electric guitar line into the mix, but otherwise leaves the song intact - I found it on Napster ages ago and apparently it came from the soundtrack to a Christian subculture movie called Mercy Streets which I'm sure was seen by about eleven people.)

Moving On
I can sing about the night
How my tunnel without light
Led me to the other side
Where the sky is blue...
Here's another song that starts off slow and takes its sweet time to unfold, seeming to be boring at first with its dark, minimal guitar melody and lackadaisical drumming. Light begins to shine into the song as Leigh tells a tale of being pushed down by nay-sayers and gatekeepers and finally saying that she just won't pay their negativity any mind - she confidently declares in the chorus, "It's all I can do to not let them ruin me... I will not let them ruin me again!" Once again, it's the strings that bring slow-moving power to the song, particularly in the brief, dramatic bridge, where they start to build into a swirling maelstrom, backing up Leigh's defiant stance as if to let her know she's not the lone woman fighting the good fight. Once Matt Slocum's secret weapon, they're now playing loud and proud, even after the rest of the band has finished playing the song, showing themselves to be one of the truly memorable elements of Sixpence's musical M.O. Some other pop and rock bands use canned strings, or even live ones for hire, to add emotion to a song, but it's just not the same thing as having an actual band member who knows how to arrange such instruments for the benefit of songs that he himself has written.

There She Goes
She calls my name, she pulls my train
No one else could heal my pain
And I just can't contain
This feeling that remains...
When the album was first released, "Moving On" was its fitting finale, but alas, the powers that be decided that nothing on the album was worthy to serve as the second single. So the band, with a newly recruited bassist and second guitar player, went into the studio to record this cover of an 80's pop song by The La's (which you may recognize from the movie So I Married an Axe Murderer). It's harmless enough - the vibrant melody with which Leigh sings "There she goes, there she goes again!" is one of those things that bears repeating... but probably not so many times that there's no room for any elements of the song other than a repetitive chorus and some brief musical interludes to bridge those choruses. Other than my resentment over this song basically being the "Cousin Oliver" of the album that was added later and does nothing to fit the musical flow of the album whatsoever, and yet it's now their second-best-known song, there's plenty for me not to like here. For one thing, while I can excuse the gender-related weirdness of Leigh singing what appears to be love songs written by a male writer earlier in the album (especially because some of them aren't romantic love songs, but appeal to "Sister Wisdom"), I can't make that same excuse here - not changing the gender pronoun just smacks of plain old laziness for the sake of recognizability. (Come on, at least Joss Stone had the good sense to sing "Fell in Love with a Boy". I suppose it'd be another story if a band had a gay singer, but Leigh Nash is clearly not a lesbian.) Second, the song has frequently been interpreted to be about heroin, which doesn't make it an automatic no-no for a Christian band to cover, but covering something like this totally out of context and then releasing it as one of your definitive singles definitely wasn't the smartest move for the band. My main complaint, though, is just that it's redundant, boring underneath its plastic, catchy pop shell, and it stumbles to a really awkward ending after two and a half minutes of not really trying all that hard. Unless you're really attached to this song, I'd recommend looking for a used copy of this album released before it was tacked on.

I'd recommend to those who are new to Sixpence that they start with this album, because I think it's fairly definitive of the different types of things that they can do. Divine Discontent, while slicker and more accessible, might throw you off just a tad. In any event, it'd be better to start with any of their actual albums rather than going for the insult of a best-of album that was released in 2004. Yeah, you'll get the three or four radio songs that were sort of hits on that best-of disc, plus an assortment of cute pop song covers and some rare non-album tracks, but it's a poor introduction to what this band is really good at, drawing less than half of its material from the band's studio albums. To truly get at their best, I think you really need to listen to their albums, so if you need to have "Kiss Me" on a CD and you're also able to keep an open mind and not expect everything a band does to mirror their hit singles, I think you'll find a lot to love about this album. You can go forward from here for the more radio-friendly Sixpence (Divine Discontent), or backwards for the more indie/alternative Sixpence (This Beautiful Mess; The Fatherless and the Widow) - either way, you're guaranteed to unearth some buried treasure.

ALBUM WORTH:
We Have Forgotten $1
Anything $1
The Waiting Room $1.50
Kiss Me $2
Easy to Ignore $1.50
Puedo Escribir $2
I Can't Catch You $2
The Lines of My Earth $1.50
Sister, Mother $.50
I Won't Stay Long $.50
Love $1.50
Moving On $1.50
There She Goes $0
TOTAL: $16.50

Band Members (at time of recording):
Leigh Nash: Lead vocals
Matt Slocum: Guitar, cello, string arrangements
Dale Baker: Drums
J. J. Plasencio: Bass (left before album was released)
Justin Carey: Bass ("There She Goes" only)
Sean Kelley: Guitars ("There She Goes" only)

Website: http://www.sixpence-ntr.com

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Listening