Quincy Jones was so much more than a musician; he was a cultural force.
In attempting to summarize the scope of his achievement, it’s difficult to figure out where even to begin. Jones produced the most successful pop single of all time, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” in 1982. By then, he was at the top of his field as, among other things, a versatile arranger who, beginning in the 1950s, worked with many of the greatest jazz artists and vocalists.
In 1977, he wrote music for the landmark miniseries “Roots” (although not as much as we thought, according to composer Gerald Fried). Also for TV, he provided the themes for “Ironside,” “The Bill Cosby Show” (1969-71), and “Sanford and Son.”
He wrote scores for nearly 40 films, including “The Pawnbroker” (1964), “In the Heat of the Night” (1967), “In Cold Blood” (1967), “The Italian Job’ (1969), and Steven Spielberg’s “The Color Purple” (1985).
Above all, he had an unquantifiable talent as a kind of musical marriage broker, persuading disparate and often difficult personalities to come together and achieve greatness. Just as he embraced different styles of music, he embraced different kinds of people. It was a superpower that fueled his genius as a producer. Who else but Quincy Jones could have anchored “We Are the World,” with dozens of egos crammed into one marathon overnight recording session? (Not even he could persuade Prince to participate or keep Waylon Jennings from storming out.) The single was conceived to raise money for a larger cause, to combat famine in Ethiopia. It was only one of Jones’ numerous and lifelong philanthropic efforts.
Jones was drawn to music at the age of 11. As he tells it, he and his brother broke into a recreational center looking for food; what he found was his life’s calling, in the form of a spinet piano. By 13, already exhibiting a talent for persuasion that would serve him well later in his career, he convinced trumpeter Clark Terry, visiting Seattle with Count Basie’s band, to give him lessons. At 15, Lionel Hampton was so impressed with one of his arrangements, he hired Jones on the spot to join his band. But pressure from Hampton’s wife caused him to be let go, so that he could at least complete his primary education. Jones went on to study at Seattle University for his freshman year, before being accepted by Boston’s Schillinger House, the precursor to Berklee College of Music.
Hampton hired him again in the early 1950s, when Jones was still in his teens. At 20 years-old, already a father, he handed in his resignation and struck out as a freelance arranger.
In 1957, Jones moved to Paris to study with Nadia Boulanger – teacher of so many of the 20th century’s most distinguished composers, especially American composers, from Aaron Copland to Philip Glass – and Olivier Messiaen. There, he immersed himself in the post-war classical music scene. Igor Stravinsky was among his illustrious associates.
Back in the States, he arranged and conducted for Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie, Frank Sinatra, and many others.
He shot up the corporate ladder at Mercury Records at a time when the market for pop was just taking off. Lesley Gore‘s “It‘s My Party” was his first number one hit, in 1964.
In 1974, he suffered a brain aneurysm. His health was so precarious that memorial services were planned. But he still had 50 years ahead of him, and his greatest successes were yet to come.
His collaborations with Michael Jackson became sensations with cross-generational appeal. In my house, at least, my parents were as interested in the next Michael Jackson album as my sister was.
In the late 1990s, he was acknowledged as the embodiment of ‘60s cool when his “Soul Bossa Nova,” originally produced in 1962, was embraced by the Austin Powers films. He would appear in a cameo in the third movie of the series.
Jones had the third-highest number of Grammy Awards ever won by a single person (behind Beyoncé and Sir Georg Solti!), with 80 nominations and 28 wins.
Frankly, Jones has been around for so long, the prospect of his death had never even occurred to me. For as long as I’ve been alive, he was always there. His accomplishments were simply staggering, and continuous, and too numerous to assimilate into a Facebook post.
His life ended yesterday, peacefully, in Los Angeles. He was 91 years-old. R.I.P.
