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Good Letters

Sixpence None the Richer is my favorite band. I used to be embarrassed to say this, particularly in 1999, when their bouncy pop song “Kiss Me” became a ubiquitous, worldwide radio hit. I knew, and know, that the band was more than this one song, but “Kiss Me” on the radio, in 1999, was the moment when Sixpence None the Richer ceased to be a band and started to be an idea.

For some people, the Sixpence of the “Kiss Me” single were the latest (and perhaps last and best, the evangelical desperation for “relevance” being what it is) in a series of Christian rock bands who, by, “crossing over,” lent pop-culture credibility to faith—not something faith is particularly in need of, but which would provide validation in the eyes of those for whom success and popularity matter a great deal.

From another perspective, they became an oddity, another Jars of Clay, a band who had toiled obscurely in a parallel universe called “Christian music,” poked its head through the curtain of the “real” contemporary cultural conversation, hung out for a few drinks and the time it takes to earn a gold record, record a couple of covers of 80s pop songs (that’s “There She Goes” and “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” the other two songs for which the general public may know Sixpence) and went back to wherever it was they came from.

For some, Sixpence became idyllic cutesiness personified—a first date band, a wedding band, a romantic-montage-in-a-teen-comedy band—while for others they became a symbol of all that is sentimental, trite, and commoditized about popular music. “Kiss Me,” for those people, is a slab of 90s naivete, and I note, heartbreakingly, that it has even become a Bad Song Signifier in the hipster jokebook, from Aziz Ansari’s “Shittiest Mixtape” to Garfunkel & Oates’ “Worst Song Medley.”

Others read into the song something close to what is known, politically, as the “defense of marriage.” One Christian magazine, in particular, was quick to quash vague questions of same-sex snogging (who exactly is wearing the flowered hat in the lyrics?), by insisting that Leigh Nash wrote the song for her husband, which was untrue; Matt Slocum wrote the music and lyrics to “Kiss Me,” as he did most of the band’s songs.

For me, “Kiss Me” was a mixed blessing in that it assured that everyone I knew had heard of a band I’d been religiously listening to since I was thirteen years old, but also that they assumed Sixpence was an innocuous soundtrack band. The teenybopper fans of Dawson’s Creek or She’s All That would never heard the anguished guitar solo on “Love, Salvation, the Fear of Death.” They wouldn’t get lost in the Ecclesisastical drone of “Meaningless,” the quiet adoration of “Melody of You,” the triumphant defiance of “Moving On.”

Those songs would remain gloriously mine, though I’ve always held out a little hope, each time Sixpence put out a new single, that others might pick up on the spark of sheer God-given genius and start to delve into their back catalogue. (Seriously, do it. Start with The Fatherless and the Widow if you like the Cure and the Smiths, This Beautiful Mess if you like the Cranberries or the Smashing Pumpkins, or Sixpence None the Richer if you have a heart and a soul and a pulse.)

Sixpence is about to put out another album, though this time (having broken up and reunited during the last decade), in a pop world where radio singles matter less, and I’m anxious to see what this new record will do for their reputation as a pop band. And actually I’m just anxious, period, because I just got an email from their publicist saying that the August 24th release date has been delayed, and I do not want to wait three years like I did for Divine Discontent as it was lost somewhere between bankrupt record labels and executives who wanted to hear more singles.

I realize that no amount of prodding will change your feelings for Sixpence into mine, and perhaps there are others who share my pain—all the 90s has-been bands I’ve long since written off as chaff may have fans by the legions. (Tal Bachman? Stroke 9? Reel Big Fish?) Perhaps you will not even be moved by the embarrassingly in-depth song-by-song commentary I’ve been working on over at Songs That Explain.

But let me ask of you one thing: try at least not to think of Sixpence none the Richer as nothing but “Kiss Me.” It’s not a bad little ditty, but a hit single does not a career make. And that’s my favorite band you’re talking about.

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