Jeanne Kuhns: Singer, Songwriter, Soulful Sister
BY NORBERT BLEI - 4/21/2005 – Peninsula Pulse
My concern has always been for the people who are victimized, unable to speak for themselves and who need
outside help. Joan Baez. It’s one of those cold, clear, early spring nights. Moonlight beckoning on the outside. The
thermostat set for 60 on the inside, a definite end-of-winter chill still lingering in the air. Except for the music. Which
warms the atmosphere with each new song.
“I was looking out my window into the dark,
aching for the moon¹s light to heal my heart.
Lost luna moth flies to my porch light,
battering her wings, just like me
we were drawn to the wrong light.”
It’s almost 2:30 in the morning when I listen to the last cut, the title song, LOST MOTH: FOUND, on Jeanne Kuhns’
new CD. A breakout album for her. New directions. New songs. Renewed life. Jeanne’s out there on her own now,
alone, going solo with this one, her second CD. Just she and the music. A place, a state of being she’s been before,
in an up-and-down life she’s not afraid to talk about: a single mother, three children. A life, maybe a little too rootless
at times, marrying, unmarrying, marrying, studying, mothering, settling, unsettling, remembering the music...all the
while looking for Jeanne. A life too much on the road sometimes, literally, figuratively. Looking for a place to call
home, or just set down awhile. To maybe make music. But always studying -- the sciences, mostly -- eventually,
finding a good part of herself in nursing (RN) where she seems more than satisfied to serve the people who need
help, young, women in particular. Make everything, everyone whole again.
Then (now) to slowly, deliberately stake the claim (woman/mother/lover/artist)find the words and the music to tell it
and sing it as only she can, truly a voice of her own timbre with welcome and occasional echoes of those great
women’s voices of the Sixties: Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon, Judy Collins, and that singer of social
conscience that continues to remind America what we are, or should be all about: Joan Baez. There was Dylan. And
there was Baez. And the rest of the rest of America was on a fast trip to hell, but these two were determined to
change the direction.
I’ve never had a humble opinion. If you’ve got an opinion, why be humble about it? Joan Baez. Her music has all this
going for her, for us, right here in Door. Plenty of heart. Much concern. We can’t claim her as a native, but she’s one
of us who understands and celebrates the true sense of this place. She’s one more reflection of just how good the
music, our own singers, songwriters, and musicians have gotten here over the last ten years.
Musicians Jean White, Eli Mattson, Chris Irwin, Jay Whitney and Hans Christian back her up beautifully on this disc.
The whole production, engineered, mixed and mastered by our maestro of sound, Hans Christian(nobody hears like
Hans) in his state-of-the arts recording studio, Allemande Music, right here in Sister Bay, Wisconsin. (Yet another
example of just how significant music in Door County has become. It’s not just the Peninsula Music Festival or Birch
Creek any more.)
It’s pushing past 3 in the morning, and I’m still studying the poetry of her lines in the sheaf of papers I’m holding in
my hand -- a list of all the songs and lyrics on the new CD. “Riverbed”, is on here too, in some ways her signature
song, if you’ve heard her sing in and around the county, a song that just burrows in the heart and mind, almost
refusing to make room for all the new songs. Such a full, far-reaching voice (alto sliding up to soprano), which puts
me in a number of places, but surely in the music of the 60s again. That beautiful mix of folk (voice and strings/heart
and conscience) with a down-to-earth, a little rock and sometimes bluesy beat.
I can’t put the sound of her music on the page, though there are times, like now, I wish I could. I wish I could tune the
reader¹s attention to the song she wrote for ”Isabel”, our 83 year-old Door County painter, Isabel Beaudoin(now
living and painting at Scandia Village). The poignancy of it. Capturing the woman’s whole life, like a poet-songwriter,
painting the picture in words:
“Isabel grew gardens
full of colors from her paint box.
Roses and forget me nots,
lilacs, pinks and purple flox.
She painted mothers holding babies
though she had none of her own,
just a cat of grey and white
to share her home.
Isabel,
paints the things she misses,
like braided rugs, and mother¹s kisses.
Coloring the days,
as life goes on
as life, as life, as life goes on.”
“The stories in these songs are very wrapped up in Door County,” Jeanne will tell you. The county’s problems are
typical. In this natural paradise we have the isolation, abuse, worries of aging and financial problems that any place
has. They just don’t show up unless you are looking. You can see our problems in the high teen suicide rate, how
busy Help of Door County and the Wellness Center, where Jeanne, an RN, works as an assistant to executive
director and Nurse Practitioner, Michele Geiger Bronsky, and supports the center’s mission of: “Providing excellent,
affordable, holistic reproductive health care, including comprehensive care that incorporates education, prevention,
and wellness using traditional and complimentary health care services.”
“For me the natural beauty of Door County gives me the courage to deal with the monsters in my life. And I have met
many heroes here, amazing people who have prevailed over difficult things,” says Jeanne. Her song, “Radio”,
(inspired by teens who contemplated suicide) perfectly captures much of what she has become in her life, and what
crafts into song.
“You dance the edge
the rain runs red and sad
The world is noise
silent voices fill your head.
Your destination’s unforgiving,
You’re surviving but not living.
Talk to me, I’m listening.
Talk to me, I’m listening, I’m listening
You’re a radio signal,
fading in and fading out
Honey love yourself,
Don’t lose yourself
In someone else’s life.
There’s so much
courage hidden deep
inside your eyes, your eyes, your eyes”
As sad as some of these songs may seem, let it be known and understood that there is joy, much joy, in her music
too. And that this CD is filled with songs to make you smile, catch the beat, even sing along with in time, once you’ve
made yourself at home with her words and music.
For openers, I suggest “Mango Magic”, a song that won’t let you get away once the beats enters your head, starts
you moving in place, and the sweetness of its lines become “a ripening situation/glowing greenelation/blushing red a
passion play”
Then there¹s “Strapless” -- which should wake up the men in the room, should their attention be wandering, as the
attention of men often does. Words by Jeanne and music by Mr. Door County Blues (guitar) Man himself, Jay
Whitney. You can almost see him smiling into the audience in that all-knowing, Whitney-way, his whole body moving
with the words, picking perfectly to the music in Jeanne’s voice.)
“I’m going strapless baby
my shoulders naked in the night.
I’m going strapless baby
touch my skin to the moonlight.
Well, I’m a wild, wild woman,
gonna be a strapless baby tonight.”
Then there’s “Cobalt Blue”, a personal favorite. Jeanne’s voice perfectly laying the lines down (sonorous? haunting?
resonating?) with Jay Whitney¹s guitar going cobalt bluesy, drawing out the color real slow without, Jeanne painting
the interior with a glow, flowing through and through.
“Cobalt Blue,
clear and true.
Cobalt Blue
I’m missing you.
Payne’s Grey
what did I say?
To bring this stormy weather.
Always thought we’d be together.
Now I’m, Cobalt Blue over you.
Thalo Green,
full of envy and steam.
Quinacridone Gold,
I’m feeling so old.
Cobalt Blue
the bluest of blues.
Cobalt blue, I’m missin’ you”
This is one of those albums (13 songs nary a clinker) that seems determined to take over your plans (like going to
sleep), demanding to be heard again. And again. The lyrics and music have invaded your being; your mind is
occupied territory. I go into the kitchen, mouthing “Mango Magic”, pour myself a tumbler of just enough Scotch
(humming “Cobalt Blue”), go back to the living room, hit the Repeat, and surrender to the music. Keeping an eye on
the window near my chair for any lost Luna moths drawn to the light.