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Andrés Segovia, the famed classical guitarist, had influence even beyond his particular field. He spent years playing concerts, making records and transcribing music for the guitar, thus ensuring the instrument acquired a hitherto unimaginable respectability. He ran a masterclass for years, and was the player to go to if you wanted to be taken seriously as a guitarist.

In 1967, Chet Atkins visited with the maestro in Madrid and the meeting reportedly went well, the Spaniard suitably impressed with the American’s posture, control and fingering. Eventually, Segovia asked Chet what kind of music he usually played and when he replied ‘country’, the meeting was prematurely ended. Segovia of course, had previously described the electric guitar as an abomination so his reaction was not unexpected. It was his receptiveness to Atkin’s playing before his admission that amuses me no end, for within this tale, lies the very roots of musical prejudice. I was trained on classical guitar, but I could no sooner confine myself to that style of playing than go to the moon. Segovia forgot a clearly defined rule in life, namely that great guitarists are revered for their artistry, whatever their musical leanings. In true gentlemanly fashion, Atkins never commented in a disparaging fashion about this meeting.