As a frat boy in small-town Ohio circa 1995, I had two competing goals. 1.) I wanted to party 2.) I wanted to be a good Christian lad. In just one semester, I was exposed to Mad Dog 20/20, a Billy Graham crusade, “shotgunning” Natural Light, Fellowship of Christian Athletes meetings, and the music of Sixpence None the Richer. I developed a huge crush on lead singer Leigh Nash, as well as a crushing dependence on Miller Lite.
To the Christian youth subculture in which I dabbled, Sixpence was the realest, rawest, and most talented band there was. They were also one of the first Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) acts to make the distinction of being Christians in a band, not necessarily a Christian band. Their listeners had to sometimes actively seek out the meaning in the lyrics, or even better, the meaning might sneak up on you.
Their hit song “Kiss Me” wouldn’t take over the pop airwaves until 1999, peaking at number 2 in the US (it just went triple platinum as of this writing). “Kiss Me” was, intentionally or not, an act of creative and cultural defiance against the stuffy norms (mostly unwritten) of the Nashville CCM industry establishment.
First, only Rich Mullins could use an accordion in a song, dammit! And could Leigh Nash tamp down her sultry sweetness? It distracted even David Letterman, who asked Ms. Nash on Late Night how long she was in town for, and what she was doing later (she handled it like a pro).
Sixpence also did Leno and MTV. Leigh Nash hobnobbed with Britney Spears for God’s sake! However, they were still “Christian” enough for Nash to perform two songs for Rich Mullin’s “Canticle of the Plains,” a musical set in Texas, based on the life of St. Francis of Assisi. Pretty freakin’ hardcore Jesus stuff right there, brother! Maybe we won’t hold that earthly success against them after all.
Sixpence had later hits with covers of “There She Goes” and “Don’t Dream it’s Over”. At the time I thought, “What a clever way to trick heathens into liking a Christian band!” Now I think, maybe they were just having fun, like the kind we had at Amaturo Theater last Friday night.
Guitarist Matt Slocum is the 51 year old genius composer and instrumentalist behind Sixpence’s songwriting.
I lost track of how many guitars he used during the show at Amaturo (at least five). I sat close enough to notice that when his guitar tech handed over a new one, Slocum was sure to make eye contact, smile, and say thanks. Damn, what a gentleman!
Slocum’s brilliant instrumental interludes, which are often technically very challenging (and reminiscent of The Cure or even Led Zeppelin), serve as a kind of meditative silence, tucked far enough away from the lyrics, where the Truth (yes, capital T) can make itself known, ever so gently, deeply, and lovingly. Sixpence allows their listeners a chance to appreciate their temporal beauty and genius, as well as the Source of said beauty. Yet there are no sermons and no Bible thumping with this bunch.
For example, Love, Salvation, the Fear of Death is a banger based on the most self-deprecating words of St. Paul. It’s also great late night driving music (on repeat, of course). It’s lyrically and musically one of my favorite songs EVER, up there with Led Zeppelin’s Rain Song and Simon & Garfunkel’s Scarborough Fair. The bass guitar alone on this track should have won a Grammy. Of course, they didn’t play it at Amaturo. I’m still trying to be a good Christian lad, so I’ll forgive them.
Here’s the night’s setlist, courtesy of setlist.fm:
Angeltread
Within a Room Somewhere
Thread the Needle
Don’t Dream It’s Over (Crowded House cover)
The Tide
Midnight Sun (The Choir cover)
Don’t Let Me Die in Dallas (Leigh Nash song)
River (Joni Mitchell cover)
Melody of You
Homeland
Down and Out of Time
Julia
There She Goes (The La’s cover)
Kiss Me
We Are Love
Encore:
Tension Is a Passing Note
Breathe Your Name
* Warning: Rosemary Hill (linked above) has been stuck in my head going on five days – may you fare better.
Leigh Nash, now 48, still glows with the beauty, innocence, and quirkiness that captured hearts when she was 20. Her smile is unafraid. Now the mother of a 20 year old, Nash seems very much at peace.
Early in the show, two well-dressed young women walked out together. “Bye, ladies!” Nash interrupted. “Oh, we’re coming back,” they said. “No, you’re not, but that’s okay!” Nash said, creating a moment reminiscent of a seasoned road comic dealing with hecklers. The door closes. Nash caught herself. “Oh my gosh, did I just imitate them?!” More laughter. “Well, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” More laughter. “I better stop.” I wish she hadn’t. She really is hilarious.
Nash also mentioned The Chimney House, how it’s the best food ever, and that she ate way too much there, rubbing her belly. Hey, I’m 50. Bellies happen. Leigh makes hers seem absolutely adorable.
Nash’s song “Don’t Let Me Die in Dallas”, written about her late father, was especially moving, as she was on the verge of tears before, during, and after. She is blessed with a vulnerability that never feels forced or cringey. Nash connects with her audience like a favorite sister, best friend, crazy wine aunt, and “the one who got away,” all rolled into one.
There were oldsters with kids, churchy types, and people who appeared to be on dates and just wanted to hear “Kiss Me”. There was something for everyone and yet no pandering whatsoever.
Driving home sober (it’s been 21 years now, thank God) my mind wandered to Austin, Texas, near where Leigh Nash and Matt Slocum are from. I was thinking about comedian Tony Hinchcliffe, whose Austin-based Kill Tony podcast has a recurring bit where he tries to recruit a lady from the audience to kiss the occasional virgin “incel” comic. The segment is usually accompanied by Sixpence’s “Kiss Me”.
Oh, please God. Could Nash do a cameo on the show, sing Kiss Me, and heal Tony Hinchcliffe’s soul? Perhaps she’d grow even more popular, thus tricking millions of additional heathens into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ! Or maybe it would just be fun as hell to watch. Either way.
Being old enough to see a band from my youth is disconcerting as I grapple with my own mortality. But I feel much richer for this experience. Not only can I reminisce about the Sixpence of 1995, but I can also appreciate their current artistry. That’s the kind of win-win that even an alcoholic Ohio frat boy can be, like, totally cool with.
