Tennessee Music Blog by Candace Corrigan

It is Christmas Eve Day. I have just put up the Christmas card on my website, but I want to add to it. Last year, on the night I trimmed the Christmas tree, I starting writing a song. I didn’t finish it until this year, and two nights ago, Doc West and I recorded it with Jordan Shirks doing the engineering. To me, it is Doc at his finest. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas. The Night I trim the Christmas Tree by Candace Corrigan The night I trim the Christmas tree I gather ornaments and the lights A kind of calm comes over me And I think of this returning night With colored glass and crystal beads My treasures I have packed with care As I begin to hang up these I think about the passing year What did I dream, What did I find Was I as kind as I could be These are the things that cross my mind The night I trim the Christmas tree. As I pick up a winsome elf or the dancing girl I’m so fond of I hum a tune all to myself And think of people I have loved And some of them are close to me And some of them have now passed on some are forever lost to me And like the years, have come and gone What we did dream What we did find Were we kind as we could be These are the things that cross my mind The night I trim the Christmas tree Some of my ornaments are red, some shine with gold and some are green With Stars and angels overhead Some trees are full and some are lean I think of paths where I’ve been led and as I’m finishing my task I think about the year ahead and the question that I always ask What will I dream, What will I find Will I be kind as I can be These are the things that cross my mind The night I trim the Christmas tree

Click here to listen to this week’s song, A Woman’s Prayer for Thanksgiving. My friend Janne Henshaw and I were talking late one night last week about Thanksgiving songs. We were going to present some to our friends at the St.Clair senior center, and we were going over some titles and possibilities, and chatting about the origins of the Thanksgiving holiday. Later, I looked online for information on Thanksgiving, and found a remarkable editorial, urging the establishment of a national Thanksgiving holiday, written in 1850 by Sarah Josepha Hale. The daughter of a revolutionary war captain, she became a popular novelist and poet and then became the editor of Godeys Lady Book.

(1788-1879) Sarah Josepha Hale painted by James Reid Lambdin in 1831

Here is a paragraph I found:

Godey’s Lady’s Book appeared under seven different titles during its sixty-eight year history (1830-1898). Sarah Hale was its editor for forty of those years (1837-1877) and is credited with having a great influence over the reading, learning, and even political consciousness of women across America. Godey’s was the highest circulating and most popular women’s magazine of the era. Between 1839 and 1860, circulation rose from 25,000 to 150,000. The editorials wielded considerable influence over a large readership; Hale used Godey’s to campaign for Thanksgiving as a national holiday until Lincoln made it official in 1863.

Looking over the editorial, which included a lovely poem/prayer, I picked up my guitar and the words fell into place. I called my friend Doc West, went over and recorded this song with a simple guitar track, and he added some guitar and drums. As usual I hope you enjoy it. Happy Thanksgiving.

I once took eight years of voice training from a professor who taught voice to opera students. Although I did not sing opera, he worked with me, improving my range, and control. I remember asking him about opera, as it seemed a distant art form to me at the time. Surprised at my statement, he told me, that in his opinion, opera was anything but distant. Opera is being surrounded by sound, image, words, and emotion. If you are lucky enough to go to the opera in Europe, he said, where the halls are small with many balconies, you will experience opera as being in the middle of that sound. The soaring notes of a soprano are sung to your heart, and the tenor sings from your soul, and the baritone rocks the core of your being. It is a stunning display of art, and talent.  It will take hold of you, bring you in, and never leave your memory. This week, I was lucky enough to have that experience, not in a quaint Italian hall, but at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center in Nashville, Tennessee. My husband and I attended the Nashville Opera Company’s production of The Fall of the House of Usher based on the famous Edgar Allen Poe short stort, adapted by Phillip Glass with libretto by Arthur Yorinks.

If I had read Edgar Allen Poe’s short story The Fall of the House of Usher, it had long been misplaced from my memory. And yet, in searching YouTube, I looked through dozens of different videos of productions of The Fall of the House of Usher, some going back as far as a silent film made in Paris in 1929. I found it fascinating that this short story has such a timeless hold on the imagination of the theatrical world.

The idea of the maverick genius Philip Glass writing an opera was intriguing enough, and having seen some of his work, it seemed to make perfect sense to me. So, we dressed for the occasion and arrived in time for the pre-opera talk given by the artistic director, John Hoomes, who was clearly excited about this production. Mr. Hoomes explained that the production designer had taken video images of the rehearsal and was projecting them, both from a rear projection screen and from a front projection screen, with the cast in the middle. I am a playwright myself, and I have used both rear projection and front projection, but never both at the same time. Apparently the stage directions that accompanied the libretto were very minimal, except for one: all sound was to be amplified, at the request of the writer, Philip Glass. Interesting.

The opera’s orchestra was small and extremely talented. In fact the cast is small, by opera standards.

The opera begins with the reading of a strange letter, a letter beseeching a young man, William, to come to the aid of a boyhood friend from school, Roderick Usher. The letter tells of sadness and unbearable melancholy, of some inexplicable malady that has come over Roderick, and which begs William to visit. So sure is he that William will come, Roderick admonishes him not to bother to replying, as he knows William will leave immediately, which William does. To me, this letter was intimate, almost one that a lover would write. We learn soon enough that William never even really knew Rodrick that well.

And so begins a tale of mystery and madness, all set to the relentless beauty of recurring music, in the most inventive setting I have ever seen. The production designer, Barry Steel, was a most important player here, enveloping the cast with ghostly gothic images, ethereal and dread-inspiring, working seamlessly with the score. This led me at points to whisper to myself and my companion the word, “brilliant “. I had the feeling that if any of the first creators of classic opera productions had had these tools at their disposal, they would have used them in an instant.

That said, madness is not an easy place to visit.

The house itself is gloomy, foreboding. There are questions upon questions. Did the brother really assault his twin sister, driving her mad?  Is the malady that both Usher descendants suffer from brought on by a sinister aspect in the house itself? Who is the resident doctor and what is his diagnosis of the the malady afflicting brother and sister? Is this unhappiness a judgement on the brother and sister who have no “earthly thing to do”? Was the sister really buried alive?  Is there any way to figure out what really happened?

In my reading afterward, I found a short story of Edgar Allen Poe’s where he describes the horror of being buried alive. Apparently it was a common fear in the early 19th century that was finally dispelled after the American Civil War with the advent of embalming.

The House of Usher is out of balance. It is falling. Yet, I was struck by the balance of the fine performances.

The costumes were perfect. The direction was great, though I thought the use of a doll to imply that the twin sister is a little girl, when the possible crime of incest happened, was a bit heavy handed. A minor point.

It was a brave and stunning production. It all fit together.

In the end, as one of the opera enthusiasts next to me said, “It is really like all tragic operas. Everybody dies, or goes mad.”

The soaring notes of the soprano, the tenor, and the baritone, along with the brilliant display of visual art and dramatic talent, took hold of me, brought me in, and will never leave my memory.

Bravo, cast and crew. Well done.

Thank you.

The Internet is a marvelous thing. A few months ago, someone found me, and a song I wrote, because I had featured the song on my blog. Lisa Ferguson, a musician and newly crowned National Hammer Dulcimer Champion at last month’s prestigious Walnut Valley Music Festival in Winfield Kansas, wrote me an email after reading and listening to my song Spirit Of The Mountains- the Ballad of Emma Bell Miles. She and some of her friends were putting on a special celebration of Emma’s life October 19th up on Signal Mountain, near Chattanooga. She asked me if I would like to be part of it. She also asked me how I ever found out about Emma Bell Miles in the first place. A number of years ago, I received a grant from the Tennessee Humanities Council to research some Tennessee women’s writings, and write songs from their words. The program Through A Woman’s Voice was later made into a 4 part series for public radio. Now it is a 4 CD set: Disks 1 & 2 are the radio programs, with humanities scholar interviews, radio theatre and the ballads, Disk 3 is the ballads only, and Disk 4 is a set of curriculum guides written for grades 4- 12 by Dr. Carole Bucy. I have recently made it a priority to get a copy of this 4 CD set into every school library in Tennessee. Emma Bell Miles was one of the women that I chose for this project, much due to the kind insistence of Dr. Anita Goodstein, one of my advisors for Through A Woman’s Voice. She was well aware of the available diaries in the Tennessee Archives, and did not consider herself a sentimental historian. She recalled reading the 1914-1915 diary in the archives one dreary winter afternoon, and was amazed to find herself in tears reading Emma’s words. After reading them myself, I was not surprised. Emma Bell Miles was quite a writer, and as she was confiding in her diary, she illuminated her difficult life in such a way that you wanted to turn back the years and help her if you could. The song resulting from her words is haunting, and yes, beautiful. So I agreed to come to Signal Mountain this last weekend. Lisa Ferguson even had a dinner on Saturday night, where I met so many fine musicians, as well as the artist who conceived of this celebration, Anne Davis. Everyone was so kind and welcoming, I felt as though I were meeting old friends. The celebration took place on Sunday afternoon, on Signal Mountain next to where Emma bell once lived. Emma is known as a naturalist, and an eco-feminist. She would have been proud to see the booths of lovely art, music, national parks, and ecology. There were quilters and spinners, and girl scouts selling hot cider. And one of the event organizers took my husband and I to see a rock bridge behind her house where Emma once gave art lessons and where she carved a small bird and her initials in a rock.

Stone bridge and waterfall where Emma taught art Bird carving by Emma Bell Miles John Boulware, fiddle, James Kee, mandolin, Joseph Decosimo, banjo Bob Fulcher, banjo, Joseph Decosimo, fiddle Celebrating Emma Bell Miles

Late in the brisk afternoon, I presented the song with local musicians who were perfect. Kay Gaston, a biographer of Emma bell Miles spoke directly after the song, and gave us a lovely synopsis of why we should be celebrating Emma and her life.

I was struck by the sweetness of the event and the legacy of care. Emma once had patrons who bought her paintings and postcards. Here, once again, 90 years after her death, people who care about the mountain she held so dear, gather to celebrate life.

Note: Please feel free to contact me about performances of Through A Woman’s Voice. I will do performances in trade for the purchase of copies of the 4 CD set to be placed in the schools of your choice.

On Friday, April 11, we had a tornado here that tragically killed a young mother and baby, injured many others and left a lot of people without homes. My husband and I were just leaving the Murfreesboro Sportscom where we swim, when the television in the lobby issued a tornado warning, with severe storms headed our way. We drove home under threatening skies, with a pelting thunderstorm hitting as we came in through the door. The warning sirens started and about three miles from our house a tornado touched down with winds reported at 165 miles an hour. The aftermath of one of these things is the true meaning of the word devastation. Trees snapped in half, buildings flattened as if by a bomb, twisted power line poles, metal roofs that resemble discarded aluminum foil. And, after the weather cleared, came the abundance of friends and church members, ready to help; looking for scattered pictures, saving any and all possible treasures and picking up the crazy abundance of bits of insulation that seemed to be everywhere. At our house, calls came in from around the country, making sure we had escaped the damage, which, thankfully, we had. In talking to my friend, the editor of the Macon County Times, we recalled his experience a couple of years ago when Macon County was hit by a much more destructive storm. We both remarked how similar it must feel to surviving a battle. About a month ago I posted a blog about working with the Words and Music program at The Country Music Hall of Fame. Words and Music works with teachers and students, pairing the students’ writings with songwriters, resulting in songs that the songwriters then present to the class. My friend Janne Henshaw and I have been working with this program for a number of years, and this year we participated in both the fall semester and the spring session. Our friend Al Goll came along with his dobro to give the songs we presented a little more polish. One of the songs this year that caught my attention was entitled The Civil War Song.

After The Storm Ulysses S. Grant Captured Confederates

Two fifth grade boys, Jeremy McConville and Jarrell Reeves, chose the war as the topic for their song. The town that they live in was once rocked by a terrible battle there, literally in their backyard. This week, 148 years ago, the South fired on Fort Sumter, effectively starting the American Civil War. Jeremy and Jarrel’s lyrics talked about Fort Sumter, as well as battles throughout the South. The resulting finished song is, I think, honest and profound.

This week, I took the live performance recording of the Civil War Song and downloaded some Civil War photographs. I put them together in iMovie. Nothing fancy, just some images of the war, including a defiant 67 year old white-haired Edmund Ruffin, who claimed to have fired the first shot at Fort Sumter, as well as a war weary General Ulysses S. Grant whose eyes saw all the horror that Shiloh had to offer.

I find them all so compelling. As always I hope you enjoy it.

This week’s song is The Ballad of Pamela Thomas

Having a presence on the Internet means that if someone wants to find you, they probably can. Years ago, when I had a different last name and was working as an actress, I wrote a song based on a woman’s Civil War diary. The theatrical company that I was working for at the time existed on grants, and after hearing my Civil War song, the director suggested I try to get a Humanities Council grant. I knew very little about writing or getting grants, but with a fair amount of help from librarians, advisors and a local historical society with some imagination, I was able to get a grant to put together a program based on women’s diaries and writings. Later this program was made into a 4 part series for public radio, which won some national broadcasting awards, including Best Radio Portrait from American Women in Radio and Television. I got so many requests for the program that I quit my day job with the theatrical company and traveled around doing my own program entitled Sampler of Michigan Pioneer Women.

Sampler of Michigan Pioneer Women

For a couple of years, I saw the state of Michigan like a traveling salesperson or a politician. It seemed like there wasn’t a women’s club or town celebration I didn’t sing for. I went through two engines in my 1966 Chevy, and Civil War costume after Civil war costume, retiring the clothes to a rag pile when the “run” was done. I would find out later that this was the beginning of my love of blending history with theatrics and music.

For the last couple of weeks I have been revisiting that program. I was contacted by a number of school teachers who found me on the Internet. They had seen me perform Sampler, way back when, and they were wondering if I had ever put the program on CDs. I hadn’t. So I went back to the old tapes, got my friend Rich Adler to run me off some CD copies. I thought that might be the end of it, but there were a couple of songs that I just couldn’t live with. This was my very first recording project, and frankly, my voice was a lot higher in those days. Some of it was charming… some not so much. So my friend Daniel Market came over with his recording equipment and graciously set it up and let me do a few songs. I edited the programs and now I have them for sale…both in a 4 CD set and a digital download. You can access a downloadable PDF file of the lyric and curriculum suggestions here.

Amazing what you can do with a Mac computer, Garageband, and little bit of time. This week’s song is one of the songs I re-recorded. It came from a few pages that Pamela Thomas wrote and published at the end of her husbands memoirs. She and her husband, Dr Nathan Thomas, had a major “station” on the Underground Railroad in Schoolcraft Michigan, at a time when they could have been easily fined $1000 and put in jail by the Federal government for their activities. Her written words were so compelling I felt I had to write the song. At one point she explains:

There are some that are Christians , who say they are Christians
Who condemn what we’re trying to do
They say we’re breaking the law and harboring fugitives,
But what would they have me do?
Should I turn them away, give them back to the slave hunters
To bondage and beatings too.
I could try not to notice them and call myself a Christian then,
But you know, it wouldn’t be true

I think of her words as we approach Easter, that most important of Christian holidays. I hope you enjoy the song. More importantly, I hope that you download or order the series. After a bit of reprise energy, I think it still holds up.

It is the early evening of an early spring day. I just walked in from seeing the first of the red bud trees along the highway. I started to sing the song that Janne Henshaw and I wrote last year When the red buds bloom In early spring Will you come back to me And the green returns, And the wild birds sing Will you come back to me For to my heart, you are so dear I wait for you, you’ll find me here When the red buds bloom, When the red buds bloom Click here to read that post. and to listen to the song When the Red Buds Bloom. It was during the red bud bloom that we wrote that song, on a particularly wet cold spring day. We had a fire going in the fireplace in the office, as we wordsmithed our way through the afternoon. Wordsmithing: that recurring pleasure for songwriters, turning the phrase this way and that, listening to the melody as it develops. I often think of the year in terms of songs written and projects begun. I’ve been lucky enough to work on a number of songs with Janne this past year. This past week, we did another session for the Country Music Hall of Fame Words and Music program. It was our second “go round” in this school year. Every time we do this , I am taken by the honesty of these young writers. I love the challenge of getting their lyrics and turning them into songs, listening to the melodies that emerge as we survey our lyrics. Janne and I asked Al Goll if he would join us on the dobro for the presentation. As luck would have it, there was a meeting in the community room where we usually perform for the students, so we got to present the songs in the Ford Theatre. The sound was excellent, the audience was GREAT, and we had a great time. We only had time to work on nine of these songs, with Janne coming up with a start for a tenth song Navy Blue, and talking to the students about poetry in song writing. I took the CD from the live show home, put the tracks into Garageband, and here they are in the order that we performed them in the show.

Janne Henshaw Candace Corrigan Al Goll

1. Beach Fun words by A. Phothimat & C. Wall songwriters, Janne Henshaw & Candace Corrigan

2. The Civil War words by J. McConville & J. Reeves songwriters, Candace Corrigan & Janne Henshaw,

3. My God words by J. Messick & G.McAvoy songwriters, Janne Henshaw & Candace Corrigan

4. Fishin’ words by D. Bowman songwriters, Candace Corrigan & Janne Henshaw

5. Friends words by M. Dozier, M. Fletcher & V. Martinez songwriters, Janne Henshaw & Candace Corrigan

6. My Parents Decided to Ground Me words by A. Russel & Scott Walkup songwriters, Candace Corrigan & Janne Henshaw

7. Ramen Noodles words by A. Burchfield & I. Ayala songwriters, Janne Henshaw & Candace Corrigan

8. Soccer Halfback words by A. Grow & P. Tawonezvi songwriters, Candace Corrigan & Janne Henshaw

9. Navy Blue (Just the chorus) words by E. Hughes & J. Mintlow, songwriter Janne Henshaw

10. Basketball words by C. Turner& M. Pramsey songwriters, Candace Corrigan & Janne Henshaw

This week’s song is Why don’t you send me a Valentine?

It is early morning as I am writing this. There is a crackling fire next to me in our little office fireplace. The birds outside are calling to one another as the light comes on. The mist outside in the grey morning begins to dissipate. The coffee is strong, just the way I like it. I love an early morning, when the town is not yet awake, before the world is too much with me. This week we celebrate the mid-winter holiday of Valentines Day, the holiday of romance. Perhaps it was coincidence that the movie Casablanca was shown on TV last night, but maybe not. The lushness of exotic sun-washed Casablanca, remarkably shot by the way, in luminescent black and white; the interesting contrast of Richard when he was still in Paris and in love, compared to, only months later, the cynical club owner Rick, disillusioned by a love that left him escaping to Africa with only his faithful friend and piano-playing sidekick, Sam; the young, innocent beauty of a stunning Ingrid Bergman, dressed in the finest couture of the day, asking Sam in that delicious Swedish accent… “Please, play it one more time for me, Sam…you know how it goes…Da dum de de de dum, Da dum, de de de de….“.

Morning Mist Tulips

The announcer tells us that Ms. Bergman didn’t think that it was much of a movie at the time. You could make a point that the dialog wasn’t Shakespeare, and yet, it was. In the middle of a war, complete with very real bad guys, star crossed lovers sacrifice, personally, everything for the love of … love.

Moonlight and love songs, never out of date,
hearts filled with passion, jealousy and hate…

That this movie was made in 1943, in the dark days of the War, when all was so uncertain, adds such an air of reality to the simple tale.

It’s still the same old story,
A fight for love and glory,
A case of do or die.

As we were watching this last night, my husband John remarked that he hadn’t realized before how important the music was to this film. It is almost a musical.

The world will always welcome lovers,
As time goes by.

Wikipedia tells me that the “U.S. Greeting Card Association estimates that one billion valentines are sent each year, world wide.” Hmm. that’s a lot of Valentines. And it also says that men send them, two to one. Now that is even more impressive.

I asked my husband to take a picture of the tulips on our dining room table. The tulips are going through that tulips stage where, as they open up, they become as lovely in their demise as when they were first fresh. I thought the picture made a nice Valentine card…from our house to yours.

The song this week is one I wrote years ago. Once again, it is a duet between myself and Doc West. It has a little slide show with it. For the slideshow and song click here.

May love surround you all this week. When it does, well…Here’s looking at you, kid.