Sweet Auburn Springfest: Generations Gathered

Lyrics

First weekend in May.
The dogwoods are out.
And the hickory smoke starts talking... telling stories.

Uncle James unfolds the chairs right on the curb.
Auntie Clara's got her secret rub in a mason jar.
Been doing this since... well, since before I can remember.
Cousins I ain't seen since last year, looking taller now.
They pull up from Macon, from Birmingham, from all around.
Following that smoke signal back to Auburn Avenue.

Then you hear it.
That first bright blast from a trumpet, shining in the sun.
Trombone answers back, low and sweet.
Tuba lays the foundation down on the pavement.
Little kids stop and stare, old folks tap their feet.
This street's heard some music, yeah...
From the Peacock's neon hum to the choir's Sunday plea.

And the smoke rises up, carrying the laughter.
The brass band marches on, now and hereafter.
Three generations sharing one plate of ribs.
This is how a street remembers, this is how a spirit lives.
Right here in the shadow of that concrete sky,
Sweet Auburn Springfest, and the feeling's high.

We take a walk down the block, past 501.
Past the porch where a King learned to play, learned to run.
And the windows of Ebenezer seem to hold their breath,
'Til the Sunday morning gospel spills out, cheating death.
It's all one story, you see.
The barbecue pit and the pulpit, setting a people free.

They tried to cut the heart out, back in the sixties.
Left a long gray scar where the blood used to flow.
But listen...
The band just marched right under it.
Turning that concrete canyon into a concert hall.
Making that shadow echo with our joyful call.

And the smoke rises up, carrying the laughter.
The brass band marches on, now and hereafter.
Three generations sharing one plate of ribs.
This is how a street remembers, this is how a spirit lives.
Right here in the shadow of that concrete sky,
Sweet Auburn Springfest, and the feeling's high.

Yeah... the feeling's high.
Smell that smoke.
That's the smell of home.