How is a song born? A melody, a muse, guitar or piano. A heart broken and dream dashed. Some light candles while others prefer to be outside in a park, on a hill, or overlooking the mighty Mississippi River. Is it written on paper — in a bound notebook or scraps of napkin — or are the words allowed to flow from the heart and gut, sung aloud?

If you lived in Memphis, Tennessee, in the 1970s, you might have thought song birthin’ to be doomed. Otis had died. Elvis died. Dr. King had been brutally murdered while enjoying the tail-end of a sunny day on his motel balcony. Then, they tore the Stax Recording Studio to the ground. Ripped it right out from beneath us like a trick with a tablecloth gone wrong.

Yet songs continue to be written. You can’t keep Memphis down and in a neighborhood called Soulsville, though the streets might run rampant with those down on their luck and where the homes and buildings wink with shuttered windows, the flame of hope flickers eternal.

Soul music. It’s just what its name implies — it lifts us, is full of joy, and it celebrates the broken hearted. Its melodies and lyrics are swept up from these streets and collected to be sung again and again.
You can’t keep the heart down, and you can’t keep this city down, because its soul is everywhere.