Despite his shady personal life, he had a gift no one could replicate, though I’d been his pupil for years. Eventually, I learned to trust myself as a guitarist and even preferred my own style. Still, there was this stirring in my gut that began the moment I learned of his death, and it wouldn’t abate. Conceitedly, it felt like the weight of the world had settled on my shoulders. I was trapped inside a well of confusion, wondering why I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was all that remained of Calvin Everill’s legacy.
