Midway through the blistering opening tune in last night’s first set of the “Telemaster’s Tour” at New York’s Iridium club, Albert Lee picks yet another impossible series of licks while sculpting an impossibly cool solo.  He begins with speed-of-light pick and fingers arpeggios, moves to beautiful Mixolydian lines, then a bit of chicken pickin’ followed by a string of bebop lines and, finally, he seamlessly moves into some octave runs. When he hits a couple of pedal steel-like licks, John Jorgenson looks up from his guitar, smiles at Albert, and then looks around, still smiling, at each band member.  A moment later Albert nods almost imperceptibly to John and he launches into an equally mind-boggling solo. Straight hot country pickin’ morphs into chord melody and then gypsy jazz.

This is a display of virtuosity rarely rendered.  Maybe Itzak Pearlman, Art Tatum, McCoy Tyner or Django Reinhardt?  But, with Albert and John, the virtuosity is colored by a grace and humility that I’ve not before encountered.  Simply put, this is a beautiful work of performance art, made more artful by its unpretentious, artless presentation.  These guys are approachable, having mingled with the crowd before the performance.  It’s like your long-lost best friends step onto the stage to reveal hidden genius.  Serious genius.  But, neither betrays the beauty of the moment with clichéd posing or mugging.  They are simply and deeply playing music.

As that first tune screams to an end, Albert announces that the next “is a song I played with Emmy Lou Harris” and launches into the Gram Parsons-penned Luxury Liner with that dizzying series of notes that confounded we guitar players when we first heard it. Albert’s playing confounds me even more now that I’m sitting about three feet from his fingers, watching what they are doing, and failing to comprehend how this can be.

It’s a stellar evening by any measure.  These humble souls are musical giants.  John founded groups as disparate as The Desert Rose Band and the Hellcasters, spent over half a decade in Elton John’s band, and is one of the finest Gypsy jazz players on the planet.  Heck, he even played Django in the 2004 film, Head in the Clouds.  Albert grew up in the UK to become, improbably,  the world’s finest country guitarist.  Along the way he formed the seminal Heads, Hands, and Feet, took James Burton’s place in Emmy Lou Harris’s Hot Band in time to record the Luxury Liner album, spent a half decade in Eric Clapton’s band, spent years touring with the Everly brothers, and, well, came to define hot country guitar playing.

Together, these dueling virtuosos convey a joy that’s nearly palpable.  Apart – each plays a two song set without the other – they give us a deeper view into their musicality. For his solo set, John puts down his sparkly Telecaster (but still plus into his Vox amp) in favor of a Stratocaster with reverse, Hendrix-era big headstock and coolly emulates the sitar tones while playing George Harrison’s Love You Too.  It’s a surprising rendition of the tune from Revolver that features a screaming solo filled with chromatic runs, artificial harmonics, and volume knob wizardry.  He follows it with a quiet, beautiful cover of Leonard Cohen’s If It Be Your Will.

For his solo spin, Albert begins with a very funky version of Little Feat’s already funky Rad Gumbo.  As for the whole evening, except when he switches to piano for a couple of tunes, Albert plays his Music Man signature guitar though a Fender Twin amp, giving us a mix of classic Tele and Strat tones.  Here, he plays a crisp, syncopated melody, some chicken pickin’, and sliding chords.  As if to demonstrate that he can play anything, he segues into Ray Charles’s Leave My Woman Alone, done in a country shuffle.

I confess that I’m far from a disinterested reviewer this evening.  In fact, I’m here on a sanctified mission to convey a special message to these twin guitar gods.  As a founding member of the board of directors of The Buddy Holly Guitar Foundation, it is my honor this evening to present both with awards.  Each will (eventually:  “luthier time” is a frustrating spot in the space-time continuum) receive a replica of Buddy Holly’s leather covered 1942 Gibson J-45, complete with a fret from Buddy’s original guitar.  Tonight I’ve simply got a token of our appreciation for these artists:  an inscribed glass trophy.  Taking the stage, I tell the audience that I’m not sure as a guitar player whether to genuflect or cry, but (barely) manage to avoid doing either.  I express my great gratitude that these two artists embody both Buddy’s love of music and his commitment to making the world a better place for the underprivileged.  The gents then unleash a cover of Well, Alright that, dare I say it, puts the Blind Faith version to shame.   The stellar band of Jeff Ross on keyboards, Lance Hoppen on bass, and Jason Smith on drums give support to that claim.

Albert and John bring the evening to a close with a speed of light version of Albert’s own Country Boy.  “I wrote this back in 1970,” says Albert, “when I was with Heads, Hands, and Feet.    We hadn’t even set foot in America, but we thought we knew how to write a country tune.” Indeed.  A truly rocking country tune.

A stunned crowd immediately leaps to its feet and brings the band back for an encore.  “We’re going to play some rockabilly,” says Albert, “because, well, we like rockabilly.”  How’s that for a lack of pretension?  The rockabilly is a scorching rendition of Johnny Burnett’s Tear it Up.  It’s really the perfect vehicle for both Albert and John to show off all of their chops – country, rock, and jazz, — and they take full advantage of the opportunity.

What has been a monumental night musically is an intimate night socially.  The Iridium is a small venue where guests sit at tables and dine from a fine menu while watching fireworks unfold before their eyes.  When not playing music, Albert, John, and the other band members simply walk out into the audience and sit at the tables.  There, they chat, sign autographs, and have drinks with old and new friends.

I, alas, can’t stay for the second set and still catch a train back home to Connecticut.  So, I say my good byes and head out the door, hoping that the other audience members appreciate their rare opportunity to commune with the guitar gods.

Well, alright.