Drummer Roy Haynes died after a short illness on 12 November, 2024 in Nassau County, New York, aged 99. His career had spanned playing swing with Lester Young in the late 1940s through bebop with Charlie Parker and performances with Sarah Vaughan, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, Stan Getz, Gerry Mulligan and John Coltrane on to collaborations with such post-bop performers as Chick Corea and Pat Metheny. As JJ’s Fred Grand said, reviewing a Haynes appearance at the London Jazz Festival in 2012, his trajectory formed a “golden thread” through modern jazz. Haynes was renowned for his subtle and responsive drumming style, which made imaginative use of cymbals, polyrhythm and classic bebop “bombs” on the bass drum; his crisp snare-drum playing attracted the description “Snap Crackle”.
Prefacing an interview with Haynes published in Jazz Journal, February 1993, Derek Ansell said Haynes’ “light, propulsive style has been developed and refined over nearly 50 years and he has always sounded fresh and contemporary”. As a tribute to the drummer JJ reproduces Derek’s encounter with Haynes in London, some time in 1992/3:
ROY HAYNES approaches the reception at his London hotel with short, sharp, darting movements which remind me of the activity he displays on the bandstand. He looks much younger than his 67 years although his hair has receded now. He wears a black T-shirt printed with the well-known photograph of Charlie Parker, Monk, Mingus and himself taken at Bob Reisner’s Open Door in Greenwich Village, and carrying the words ‘Bird Lives’. He is immediately friendly and effusive.
My first question is not one of his favourites. I mention the most significant drummers of the post-bop era – Kenny Clarke, Max Roach, Art Blakey, Roy Haynes himself, Philly Joe and Elvin Jones – and wonder why they have all been loudly hailed and proclaimed except him.
‘I don’t entirely agree with that,’ he says quickly, moving from one area of the sofa to the other. ‘All you guys say that, the fellow that was here just now said it but I don’t accept it. I’ve had my share of appreciation. The people that counted always knew what I could do.’ He asks me why I mention Kenny Clarke and I say that he is generally accepted as the man who invented bebop drums. Roy tells me that when he first went to New York as a teenager Clarke sounded like Jo Jones. ‘Not Philly, Chicago Jo Jones. And later Kenny Clarke was going round telling everybody that Roy Haynes was playing some really different shit in 1946. I’m not saying it, he was saying so. Kenny was playing with Red Allen back then.’ It all depended, Roy suggested, on who was listening and what they were hearing.
With Lester Young: ‘I used my right hand on the cymbal, very light and he was pleased . . . I’m Pisces and we’re sensitive people. I knew what Pres wanted’
I ask him about Lester Young, who was reputed to be very fussy about his drummers. ‘My first night with Lester was at the Savoy Ballroom and we were playing for dancers. I used my right hand on the cymbal, very light and he was pleased. He said to me: “You sure are swinging Pres; if you’ve got eyes for it, the gig is yours.” I’m Pisces and we’re sensitive people. I knew what Pres wanted.’
I ask how he got on with Charlie Parker; the clean-living, non-smoking Roy Haynes obviously had a vastly different life style to many of his colleagues. ‘They all wanted to be around me all the time,’ he told me. ‘They said I made them laugh. Charlie Parker used to say: “I’m going to follow you to see what you’re doing”.’
A discussion about Clint Eastwood’s film of Parker led me to ask him about the trip to the deep south in 1949/50 when Red Rodney was billed as Albino Red to pass him off as a white Negro in hostile areas. ‘I don’t remember too much about that,’ Roy told me. ‘I think I only visited two or three places in the south and then headed back to New York. But I’ll tell you something about Red Rodney that isn’t known. I worked with him in Chicago when he was strung out and he went and collected his money for the gig and mine as well and disappeared. I got the money from him eventually but it was years later.’
Some of Roy’s recollections are fragmentary and he says he is not too happy talking about times past or even thinking about them. He is, after all, a man of the present, constantly updating his playing and keeping pace with the jazz of the moment. He will though, when asked, dig out some anecdotes. ‘Back then, around 1950, I had this big Oldsmobile convertible, had a great long hood on it. I used to park it right in front of Café Society with the top down. Charlie Parker came by with Chan Richardson, and she said to Bird: “Is that a Cadillac?” Bird was so high he just said “yes”. Those were wild times. I used to race Miles Davis through Central Park. He had a big new Dodge; we both ended up with speeding tickets.’
Roy tells me that he admired Artie Shaw very much when everybody else was looking at Benny Goodman: ‘I always supported the underdog.’ And he reminds me that there are so many really great players around that nobody has ever heard of. ‘Art Blakey, when he was in Boston with Fletcher Henderson, used to call me his son although he wasn’t much older. Art would say to me “You should hear Ike Day”. There’s always someone else great, and somebody else great after that.’
Roy pauses and grins. ‘I wanted to be one of those unknowns that are greater than anybody.’ I asked if he was ever in that situation. ‘When I was playing with Chick Corea, not so long ago, J.C. Heard was going around saying “You should hear this great new drummer, he’s called Roy Haynes”. Chick said to J.C.: “Do you know how long Roy’s been around?” But you see J.C. hadn’t seen me or come across me before. He was calling me a new “young” drummer.’
Roy Haynes speaks enthusiastically about all the gigs he has played and even those that he didn’t quite make. Always though, the point he returns to is his ability to swing. This is the ingredient that makes him one of the most sought-after drummers on the scene. He tells me that he is constantly asked to play and record with young musicians coming up but he only accepts if he feels comfortable with their music. He has never sold out to commercial interests although he is one of the very few master musicians who can say this. And the roster of important, innovative leaders he has worked with or deputised with is very impressive.
‘You know that group that toured Europe as the Giants Of Jazz? Dizzy, Monk, Sonny Stitt, Art Blakey, and I think Al McKibbon was the bass player.’ I nod and Roy tells me that he was asked by Dizzy Gillespie to replace Blakey for some dates in Cologne. ‘On the bus from the airport to the hotel Dizzy is telling me about some tune we’re gonna play. He goes through it and I say to Dizzy: “Just tell me where one is.” When I know that I start swinging. You know, on that tour Dizzy said to me: “Your solo was a symphony, a symphony.” He called George Wein, who organised the band, and told him Roy Haynes was great.
‘And I played with the Basie band. The Basie boys said I could really swing the band when I played down in Pennsylvania when Sonny Payne was sick. They all wanted me to stay but I asked Basie for too much money. After the gig he said: “How much do I owe you?” I told him and he said: “That much?” I don’t think he expected it.’
Roy pauses, sips his drink and looks content. ‘I got my honorary doctor degree from Berklee in September ’91. Me and Joe Zawinul. They give one to a black guy and one to a white; keep it fair I suppose. Anyway that’s what they told me.’ He moves along the sofa and back again; he seems hyperactive and rarely still, gesturing constantly and stabbing the air with his finger to make his points. ‘And I got a Grammy award for that record Blues For Coltrane. McCoy was on that and Pharoah (Sanders) and David Murray.’
When Coltrane’s name comes up I take the opportunity to try and clear up a slight mystery concerning replacements for Elvin Jones. ‘I understand,’ I said, ‘that when Elvin was indisposed, Coltrane preferred to use either you or Philly Joe Jones but mainly you because Philly was unreliable.’ ‘Who said that?’ ‘I read it in books about Coltrane.’ ‘No, that’s not right. Philly wasn’t unreliable, not then, it’s critics said so.’
‘Does that mean then that Philly Joe wasn’t right for the quartet?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t say that,’ Roy corrected me sharply. ‘Philly wanted very much to make it with Coltrane. See, I could only do one week with Trane in Birdland. Philly came in but it just didn’t fit. I know how much he wanted to make it. He told me. He cried because he was so upset that it didn’t fit. Sometimes it doesn’t, no matter what.
‘They were asking me how I could play with Coltrane and I said: “You should have asked Elvin.” He knew me before he went with Coltrane. This critic called Trane and said: “What is the difference between Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones?” Trane said to him: “They’re both great drummers and they have a way of spreading the rhythm.” I’ve always played that way.’
‘Are you saying that a lot of Elvin’s stuff was coming from Roy Haynes?’
‘Not a lot.’ A pause. ‘Some of it.’
‘Coltrane wanted almost an equal partner on drums?’
‘He wanted that sound. Strong. He had a built-in drummer. His time was there always.’
‘You once expressed an interest in forming or working with a big band for a season. Is that something that still might happen?’
‘Duke called at my hotel; he loved me and wanted me to play with the orchestra. But I knew some of the older guys would not want to play with a young guy playing all that new shit’
‘No, I don’t think so. Things change. I’ve got plenty of work. I play in Europe quite often. I could have gone with Duke once. Louis Bellson wanted me to take over from him when he left. He said to Duke: “Get Roy Haynes.” Duke called at my hotel; he loved me and wanted me to play with the orchestra. But I knew some of the older guys would not want to play with a young guy playing all that new shit. Some of those older guys were 10 feet tall. When Duke played in Boston many years later he saw me and said to the audience “one of the great drummers is here”.’
Although we’ve been talking for over an hour, Roy Haynes is still lively and animated, patiently hearing all my questions and giving me information, much of it new and occasionally surprising. He orders drinks and settles down in another chair. He is always on the move. The subject of big bands is not over; not quite. ‘I did a week with Louis Armstrong’s big band in 1946. Nobody ever mentions that. That was something. There were a few other young guys in the band.’
I say that I will mention it and we move on to the important records that he has played on over the years. I say that although the Horace Silver And The Jazz Messengers session from 1954/55 is often credited as being the start of hard bop and the Blue Note sound, perhaps the Bud Powell quintet sides with Navarro, Rollins and Roy from 1949 were the real beginning.
‘Yeah well, maybe the Horace things were a bit more towards the people.’
‘More percussive?’
‘Yeah. And they worked together for some weeks; we didn’t. Ours was just a record date.’
‘You made a great record with Sonny Rollins for Riverside in 1957.’
‘The big band?’
‘No, that was the Big Brass album. The one with Sonny Clark and Percy Heath.’
‘Ah, yeah. Hank Jones should have been on that one. He was there in the studio. Something was wrong, I won’t say what but they wouldn’t let him play.’ I was left reflecting that the only time Rollins and Sonny Clark recorded together was a quirk of fate when the first-choice pianist couldn’t play.
‘The Blues And The Abstract Truth session is a favourite with many people. On the face of it some of the players seem a little incompatible but it works wonderfully. Any comments?’
‘It was all the people Oliver Nelson wanted. You know that… (Roy sings the melody of Stolen Moments)? I played brushes all through that and the way that rhythm went – Paul Chambers, beautiful, just beautiful, the way he set that up.’
I mention George Barrow’s section – only baritone work and the contributions from Eric Dolphy.
‘Oh yes, he had to have that baritone there, like Duke, Harry Carney, you know? I played on Eric Dolphy’s first record date. Everybody thought he was playing something new, all the critics, but he wasn’t. It was all coming from Charlie Parker, all that stuff.’
Roy Haynes still has one more surprise for me. I decide to check my basic facts. ‘You were born in Roxbury, Massachusetts on March 13, 1926?’
‘1925.’
‘Ah. All the biographies and jazz yearbooks say March 13, 1926.’
‘1925 is correct. I can give it now, it doesn’t matter.’ The rest is accurate though. He had his first professional experience with Sabby Lewis and trumpeter Frankie Newton, and played in the very first Miles Davis band in 1948 before joining Parker. Roy tells me that Miles used to say ‘Bird stole my drummer.’
I sense that Roy is getting restless but he continues to tell me about his early experience in Europe when he made a first trip to Britain in 1954 with Sarah Vaughan and was unable to play because of the Musicians’ Union ban. And about working with Stan Getz: ‘A very lyrical player. He could be difficult. He was a man who had trouble with himself, I think.’
I could go on talking to Roy Haynes for ever but he has to go and eat and get ready for his evening appearance at Camden Town’s Jazz Café. Later that night I hear him play with his new quartet, his support crisp and strong, his solos models of complex yet logical construction and always, always swinging. And as contemporary as any drummer you care to mention.
Roy Haynes has played with practically everybody who is anybody in jazz. Most of them have praised his work unreservedly. Lester, Bird, Miles, Rollins, Getz, Louis, Basie, Chick Corea – the list goes on. He knows his own worth and will tell you how good he is and what others think of him. ‘I’ve been to the mountain top, like Martin Luther King,’ he tells me. He looks fit and well and young for his age and he is a great advertisement for clean, healthy living. His greatest asset though, he will say, is that he always swings, seemingly with ease and relaxation.
Among his parting words are some that sum him up most succinctly. He tells me that he has never succumbed to commercial pressures. ‘Some of these guys pay for publicity. Miles did. Not me. It’s what I get from playing and what the audience gets from it, that is what is always great.’
