Three dozen musicians, ages 8 to 81, toting inside their trombone cases a bright, loud, joyous tradition: shout music.

An all-star band spanning three generations, they join us from across the city for a one-of-a-kind gathering. They're going to play a little and tell us about the community of music at the United House of Prayer.

Shout music is like NASCAR: They have it all over the country, but we do it right.

"When people ask, 'What's special about Charlotte culture?' one of the answers is shout band music," says Tom Hanchett, staff historian of the Levine Museum of the New South. Like the church, the music has done much of its growing up in Charlotte.

Have a seat. We're here in the United House of Prayer temple at Ninth and Davidson streets, where the men are settling into folding chairs and pews. The afternoon sun streams in the windows.

What is shout music?

"It's a gumbo," says Gregory Patton, 52, a former Charlotte bandleader.

A mix of gospel and jazz, shout music began in United House of Prayer parades in the 1920s. A band is mostly trombones - often a dozen - reaching up to heaven and pulling down inspiration. Pounding around them are a tuba or two, a bass drum, snare drum and other percussion instruments. The band can take an old-fashioned hymn and fill it with a lively holy spirit.

The musicians demonstrate. First they play a straight version of a hymn, "Ease My Troubled Mind." Even, smooth, plodding.

Then they play the song as a shout, and they blow the roof off the place.

With the first note, a small boy darts across the room and snatches up a tambourine. The bandleader blurts out a melody line on his trombone, and the band blares back support, riffing off his riff.

Everyone is moving, stomping feet, rocking in their seats. The old men shout. "Give it to God!" The tambourine rattles. And it's loud. It feels like a marching band and a gospel choir are ganging up on you. And God is rooting for them.

Who loves this music?

"Our music draws people to church," says Cedric Mangum, 47, one of Charlotte's top bandleaders.

"United House of Prayer temples are built in the lowest neighborhoods, so people have a refuge. So they don't have far to go. They follow that music."

Patton nods. "We're a drawing card."

You might see House of Prayer bands uptown on weekend nights, or at ballgames. With a box set out for donations and a circle of appreciative listeners, a dozen musicians young and old blow through hymns.

But if mainstream America now appreciates shout music, that hasn't always been true. In 1938, the S.C. Supreme Court closed a United House of Prayer temple in Columbia, ruling it was a public nuisance because of "unearthly sounds, use of drums, trombones, horns, and scrubbing boards."

"When I was a boy, other churches said our music didn't belong in church," says Fred Alexander, 71. "But we point to Psalm 150: 'Praise ye the Lord. Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet.'"

Is it written down?

"The way we play it, you can't write it," Mangum says. "When we're in church, we go off spirit. We go the way the Lord wants us to go. Every time, it's different."

"We improvise so much," Patton says. "There are great secular musicians, and we could play with them. But they couldn't play with us."

The bands push each other further with improvised fury. In a service, two bands will often face off. As one blares to the heavens, the other sits stone-faced, sizing them up.

How do you learn?

"No one teaches you," says Rodrick Mangum, 25, Cedric's son. "It starts when you're a baby."

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