The Right Guy

Tom Lake: LUTZ — In the church on the stage by a tall white cross stood a man with a red guitar. He flexed his facial muscles as he played, the way guitarists do when they reach a crescendo, and the sound was swift and warm, like a solar wind. In his abandon he jerked the neck so hard that the capo went flying and bounced at his feet.

The man was Jeff Calhoun. He had searched a long time for the fleeting transcendence that comes when musicians lock together just right. He had tasted it in jazz clubs, in recording studios, at outdoor shows with the Lexington Philharmonic, but now he believed that feeling was nothing less than the physical presence of God.

Calhoun believed all good things were f…