The Man with the Golden Horn
Milton Martin spends his days blowing his soprano sax from his wheelchair in the bright sun at the corner of Main and McKinney, hard by the assemblage of broken dreams and frustrated town planning that is Main Street Square. Over an everyday assemblage of abject, bullyragging winos, hard-looking dudes with neck tats, and occasional cubicle slaves, Martin's sweet-toned soprano sax can be heard rising with its mockingbird-like, myriad variations on tunes like Bill Withers's "Ain't No Sunshine."
Photo by John Nova Lomax Milton Martin downtown on the corner of Main and McKinney
Tell Martin he's better than the average Houston street musician - and in actual fact, he's New York recording studio session quality -- and he'll not-so-humbly acknowledge that fact. He'll fix you with the hazel eyes that pierce you with their gaze from under his floppy black cap and say, "That's 'cause I'm not from here. That's why - I am from New Orleans.
"I'm actually tryin' to train some of these guys," he grouses. "Some of 'em can't even play 'Happy Birthday.'"
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