Roy Haynes, one of the most influential drummers in jazz history, whose career spanned more than eight decades, from his pioneering hypnotic big-band era to bebop style, hard bop, and everything in between, died peacefully in his sleep at Mount Sinai South Nassau Hospital on November 12. He was 99.
His transition was confirmed by his daughter Leslie Gilmore-Haynes; a cause of death was not given.
Haynes was honored as one of the 2024 inductees into Jazz at Lincoln Center’s Ertegun Hall of Fame. This is one of many awards, some of which include a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Jazz Foundation of America in 2019 and from the Recording Academy in 2011; and two Grammys — for the McCoy Tyner album (1988) “Blues for Coltrane” and for the album “Like Minds” (2000), a collaboration with Gary Burton, Chick Corea, Pat Metheny, and Dave Holland. In 1995, he was named an NEA Jazz Master by the National Endowment for the Arts and a year later, he was knighted by the French Government with the Chevalier de L’ordre des Arts et des Lettres.
The Roxbury native may hold the reputation as the only jazz musician to appear on the action-adventure video game “Grand Theft Auto IV” (2008), playing himself as the host of a radio station whose motto was “Jazz from a time before it became elevator music.”
His many awards and accolades, as well as his extensive discography, define his depth as one of the most innovative drummers to ever pick up the sticks. After having the pleasure of knowing Haynes for more than 30 years, it is important for me to reflect on my times spent with a friend who happened to be an historical figure in Black American music.
We met in the mid-1980s during a period when a group of my friends (the Pride of New York) were promoting fashion shows and jazz concerts. My responsibility was booking jazz artists, who appeared weekly at the once-famous dance hall the Hotel Diplomat (in Times Square). We booked Haynes and his quartet. While talking after the show, I asked about an interview, and he agreed! Since most of my interviews to that point were mainly R&B artists arranged through record label publicists, I asked for his publicist’s number. He quickly responded that there wasn’t a publicist, but offered his number, which I promptly wrote down.
On the subway ride home, I was overjoyed and anxious, still not believing the number of the great Roy Haynes in my pocket, so I kept checking to make sure it was there. Once home, it was an automatic call to my jazz-crazed buddy to report the news. He couldn’t believe it either and would wait for explicit details.
I couldn’t sleep that night, due to jazz insomnia. Finally, after anxiously pacing through my apartment at 6 a.m. and again at 9 a.m., I picked up the phone (pushbutton) and called at 11 a.m. “Hello, Roy, it’s Ron Scott calling for our interview.” He says, “Hey, Ron Scott, I want you to remember this: Never call a jazz musician before 12 noon. Call me later [click].” I called back around 2 p.m. and he says, “Hey, Ron Scott, what did you learn today?” “Oh, never call a jazz musician before 12 noon,” He laughed. Lesson learned. I have yet to call a musician before 12 noon unless it is by their request.
Haynes was like one of my uncles: hip and quite stylish. Of course, unlike him, they were never acknowledged as one of the best-dressed men in America by Esquire magazine (1960), which reminds me of a situation that could very well have been one of my uncles in another scenario: On an extremely hot summer evening, Haynes was playing at the Blue Note (one of his main performance venues in NYC). My hanging out at the club in shorts with a feeling of hipness was later diminished when the drummer questioned my attire upstairs in his dressing room. Since the room was filled with family and friends, he called me to the side with a big smile and asked where my next destination was — it must be to a beach party, he exclaimed. He casually explained my inappropriate dress for the club, saying that after all, I represented the music and my publication.
Advice accepted! To this day, I have never worn shorts to a jazz club again. That was Haynes: offering advice in the moment without being derogatory or condescending; just delivering a point in his usual cool demeanor.
Haynes recorded an album with Pat Metheny, “Question and Answer” (Geffen, 1990). That title was apropos, considering the way Haynes had a way of answering my question with another question, but his question always held a jewel of wisdom, allowing me to see the answer.
Like his wardrobe and music, the “Royal of Haynes” as Lester Young called him, loved stylish cars; his first automobile was a 1950 convertible Oldsmobile. In Amiri Baraka’s book “Black Music” (Akashi Classics, 1968), he reflected on the drummer picking him up at the subway station in “his long, pale-yellow Cadillac that looks as if it has just arrived from the plant.” By the time the 1980s rolled around, as his music and reputation soared, he owned the Canadian-manufactured Bricklin, a two-seat sports car with unique gull-wing doors. On a few occasions, he drove this car to Harlem for the annual Harlem Week Antique Automobile Exhibition, where he had so much fun conversing and having folks take photos with the car. The auto enthusiast also owned a Corvette, a 280SL Mercedes-Benz, and an El Dorado.
Such stories could go on for another few days, but this was necessary — I had to come from the heart! Throughout his life, Haynes influenced and mentored generations of like-minded human beings, who were honored to cross his path.
Hey, Haynes, thanks for the time!
In addition to his daughter, Haynes is survived by his sons: Craig, a drummer, and Graham, a cornetist; eight grandchildren, including Marcus Gilmore, also a drummer; and seven great-grandchildren.