In 1939 we were playing the Coronado Hotel in St. Louis. After the gig one night, the cats in the band went out jumpin' in the after-hours joints. They landed up in a hot spot on the second floor of Jesse Johnson's restaurant, where they heard and jammed with a young bass player--Jimmy Blanton. Billy Strayhorn and Ben Webster dashed over to my hotel and came into my room raving about him. I had to get up and go with them to hear him, and I flipped like everybody else. It seemed that Jimmy had done most of his playing with his mother, a pianist, and his big band experience was limited. But we didn't care about his experience. All we wanted was that sound, that beat, and those precision notes in the right places, so that we could float out on the great and adventurous sea of expectancy with his pulse and foundation behind us.

We talked him into coming down to the hotel the next night to play a few things with us. He was a sensation, and that settled it. We had to have him, and he joined the band.

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Jimmy Blanton revolutionized bass playing, and it has not been the same since. No one had played from the same perspective before. He played melodies that belonged to the bass and always had a foundation quality. Rhythmically, he supported and drove at the same time. He was just too much.