At a time when teenage girls flock to Nashville to sing bland pop music packaged as country, newcomer Chalee Tennison is a rarity, a bona fide throwback to the days when the hillbillies ran Music City. A former drywall hanger and guard at a maximum-security women´s prison, Tennison is also a single working mother of three who writes and sings about, as her press material puts it, "everyday dreams of life and the heartbreak of romances gone sour." If that doesn´t sound like Tammy Wynette, the album, laced with a prominent pedal steel, surely does, and not in a manufactured way. With a sob in her voice that even Wynette would have saluted, Tennison also comes naturally to Wynette´s Deep South enunciation, and she seeks out the same kinds of woman-to-woman songs of pain, neglect, and personal strength ("Just Because She Lives There") that secured Wynette´s legend. So what if the midtempo rhythm numbers seem forgettable? The album´s sturdy