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He has the perfect feel for the notes, but that's not the first thing you'll notice. When he bends a string it rolls out a pure stream. There's never a buzz or rattle. Each is timed perfectly; it may start unexpectedly or last just a little longer than you thought, but the result is magnificent.

His arrangements are subtle — spare and beautiful — but that fact doesn't settle in until around the end of the first set.

His knowledge of blues guitarists is impossible. How would someone have time to learn to play like that4308354262_a0f647197e while absorbing so much history? You'd never know that by listening though. When he plays you forget that anyone else has every played the instrument. He seems akin to nothing. Comparisons you might make would be to a perfect dessert which melted on your tongue, or a nap you took in a shaft of sunlight. These are all considerations for the next day.

No, the first thing you notice is the swell of sound coincident with his pick hitting the second string. The first note, from his E-string, has been hanging there as if it always existed. But when that second note comes in, the two join resonant forces. They burst in your ears, a weaponized nectar. The third note drops before you're quite ready. Four, five, and six round out the chord and it's like an elephant sitting on your chest. The room suddenly smells toasty. You remember basking in a sauna some January night.

Those notes will ring in your ears until your jaw aches from smiling.