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Milt Hinton wasn't the kind of person who drew attention to himself. As a matter of fact, he was one of the most unprepossessing people I've ever had the privilege to meet. "It's necessary, especially in the rhythm section," Milt Hinton often said, "that you have enough humility to help make somebody else sound good." He was simply happy to be behind the scenes. Or, rather, beneath them. You see, Milt Hinton loved to play the bass. And play bass he did. "I was always on time," Hinton told me in a conversation in New York several years ago, "and ready to play when the gig was supposed to start. If somebody hired me to play at nine o'clock, I'd be there, ready to play, at nine o'clock. So the other players started saying, 'hey, we'd better be on time, because the judge is playing this gig, and we all know he's never late." He soon became known for more than punctuality. His time was so perfect, his sense of "swing" so strong, his musical skills so well honed, whether sightreading or improvising, that he rarely made a mistake. His "sound" was as big as his heart, which was enormous, and warm. That "sound" was the heartbeat, the foundation, beneath some of the greatest jazz performers, and some of the greatest recordings, in the history of American popular music. He worked with the likes of Lewis Armstrong, Cab Calloway, Benny Goodman, Dizzy Gillespie, Ben Webster, Billie Holliday, John Coltrane, as well as Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand and Paul McCartney, among a host of others, in a career that spanned seventy-some years. Everyone, literally, played with him. And loved him. I once heard fellow bassist Ray Brown tell a story about an automobile trip he made with Milt. "We were driving down the road, near Milt's house," he said, "and we were listening to some classical music. It was the 'Torreador Song,' from the opera 'Carmen.' We were listening to this," Ray told me, "when all of a sudden the baritone started singing. Then Milt got this funny look on his face. I asked him, 'what's wrong?' He says, 'I always thought the bass part was the melody!' And we both burst out laughing." Milt's joy in performing music was only matched by his joy documenting the "jazz life" in photos. It became a lifelong obsession. Wherever he went, he took pictures. In fact, if he couldn't get the "shot" he wanted, he'd hand his camera over to another musician who might have been in a better position to take a picture. And Milt took pictures of everything: from a young, snoring Dizzy Gillespie on the bus in the middle of a tour of one-nighters, to fellow musicians clowning under the "colored entrance" at a major rail station in the South. Milt developed some of the film. But much of it, in fact most of it, was simply stored in boxes his home, until friends urged him to get some of it developed. A portion of his archive of personal photos was later published in two books, "Bass Line: The Stories and Photographs of Milt Hinton" and "Over Time: The Jazz Photographs of Milt Hinton," to critical acclaim. If you're familiar with the Art Kane photo "A Great Day In Harlem," Milt is the guy on the front row, next to Thelonious Monk. If you've seen the film of the same name, you've seen some of Milt's work as well. Much of the "Super 8" film that Milt and his wife Mona took of the making of that photograph ended up in the film of that name, which was nominated for an Academy Award. Milt Hinton died a few weeks ago, at the age of 90. It's impossible to write a tribute to this man that lives up to his life, and to what he accomplished in his unassuming way. We can only reflect on his contribution to our lives, and feel the sadness of his passing. He would have enjoyed Ken Burns' "Jazz," not for the chance to see himself in a documentary series. He would have been happy seeing his friends, and more importantly, jazz music, being presented with the honor and respect that for so many years had been denied. But for all of us, even those who never had the opportunity to shake his hand, to feel the warmth of his smile, to say "thanks," he is always with us. As long as one person hears in the majesty of jazz Milt Hinton's elegance and grace, he'll never be truly gone.
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