There’s a hum that lingers in the air along West Grand Boulevard, a pulse so familiar it feels like it has always been there. It’s in the rhythm of passing cars, the shuffle of footsteps on the sidewalk, and the faint whisper of a tambourine that seems to drift from a modest white-and-blue house marked “Hitsville U.S.A.”. For those who grew up on the sound of Motown...
