The life of the late Quincy Jones spanned the entirety of modern American pop music – a tradition he absorbed, influenced and reinvented for generations. It’s remarkable to look back on the life of the composer, arranger and producer and hear him talk about his friendships and collaboration with Sidney Poitier, Lena Horne, Ella Fitzgerald, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson and Tupac Shakur, among hundreds of ‘others.
Over the years, the Times spoke to Jones: died Sunday at age 91 – at several points in his career, where he recalls being a black composer in Hollywood in a less enlightened mid-century climate; making perhaps the biggest pop album of the century with Michael Jackson, and his heartbreak over the real-life violence of gangsta rap that affected his family.
Jones’s philosophy on music was from the outset cosmopolitan and curious. He traveled widely, and as a composer he learned from European classical and folk traditions, combining them with the innovations of black art forms like American jazz.
Traditional music “beautifies your soul,” he says told the Times in 2001. “Because you see that in most countries, the evolution of their music is based on the roots of their folk music, like ours. (Béla) Bartók comes from Hungarian folk music. Scandinavian folklore is awesome. All those songs that Miles (Davis) and Stan Getz played, “Dear Old Stockholm,” beautiful folk music, you can’t believe how beautiful it is. Traveling is the best education there is. You learn about their food that they like to eat, their language and their music. And it is the soul. It’s the real thing. They told us: don’t go to the souk (a market or bazaar)! Don’t go to the casbah! That’s exactly where we went. It’s like going to the neighborhood! I’ll be there in a minute, baby.
Jazz, one of his first loves, permeated everything he did in film music, pop and education. “(Count) Basie, Clark Terry, it was an incredible education,” he said. “I talk a lot now. But I used to sit down and be quiet and listen to them. Because the old people know what they’re talking about, they’ve been there. All the younger brothers calling Louis Armstrong a “Tom” and all that. He’s the man who invented our music. He didn’t have any samples, he didn’t have a radio station or anything to listen to. He’s just making it up. Art Blakey told Branford Marsalis, “We had to take a lot so you could do your little things.” It’s true. There’s a lot of blood there.
“Before I die, I want to help Americans know their own music,” he added. “They don’t understand. We have the largest mothership on the planet. We need to talk to the administration. We need a Minister of Culture – I don’t want to do it, but we need one. Everyone has one. The culture of this country is the Esperanto of the world. It’s the first thing they take out of the schools, but if they had it there would be a better spirit in the country.”
Jones rose to prominence early as a film composer, writing scores for the Oscar-winning films “In the Heat of the Night,” “The Wiz,” “In Cold Blood” and “The Color Purple.” among others. But blazing this trail was an often lonely endeavor for a black artist in mid-century Hollywood.
“Sidney Poitier and I were the only ones there,” Jones said.who produced music for several films starring Poitier, a close friend. “He passed the composer torch to me.”
As recording technology evolved from simply documenting live performances to a full-fledged artistic craft, Jones adapted his methods for a new era. But he always tried to emphasize the human qualities of being in a room with a group, reading to each other.
“The essence of music is designed to interact. Synthesizers and drum machines? It’s not an interaction. he said in 2001. “When I recorded with (Frank) Sinatra, Sinatra was sitting right there in the booth, looking right at me, the rhythm section and the trumpet section. It was the only way we knew how. And I can deal with that in different ways. Because I have worked with all generations. It continues to move. A lot of guys didn’t want to change. …Now it’s modular, with layers and overdubs and all that.
Yet Jones was quick to see the potential of new electronic instruments and used a then-nascent Moog synthesizer to write his theme for 1967’s “Ironside.”
“Robert Moog said to me, ‘Quincy, why don’t the brothers use my instrument?’ ” he recalled in 2017. “I said: Because, man, No. 1: We sculpt an electronic signal into a smooth sine wave, or sawtooth wave, which is rough. The problem is that it doesn’t fold. And if it doesn’t bend, it can’t become great. And if it can’t get funky, bro, don’t touch it. So he came up with a pitch-bender and a portamento on it… and I got it very quickly.
In the world of pop music, Jones’ work with Jackson, particularly on the era-dominating LP “Thriller,” changed everything. “It was the perfect convergence of forces” he said, in the moving reminiscence of 2009 after Jackson’s death. “In the music industry, every decade there is a phenomenon. In the 40s there was Sinatra, in the 50s Elvis (Presley), in the 60s the Beatles. …In the 80s, there was Michael Jackson.
Jones explained how he honed the gifts that made Jackson such a powerful artist. “The 80s belonged to us and our souls would be connected forever,” he said. “Evoking the likes of Fred Astaire, Sammy Davis Jr. and James Brown, he would work for hours, perfecting each kick, gesture and movement so that they came together exactly as they were intended. We tried all sorts of tricks that I had learned over the years to help with his artistic growth, like dropping the keys just a minor third to give him flexibility and a more mature range in the upper registers and lower, and more. tempo changes. I also tried to direct it towards deeper songs, some talking about real relationships…
“At one point during the session, the right speaker caught fire. How is this a sign? » He asked. “It’s no coincidence that almost three decades later, no matter where I go in the world, in every club and karaoke bar, like clockwork, you hear ‘Billie Jean,’ ‘Beat It,’ Wanna Be Starting Something’, ‘Rock With You’ and ‘Thriller’.
After Jackson’s heyday in the 1980s, as hip-hop became the dominant commercial force in pop music, he spoke with sadness and insight about how music designed to reflect real-world pain and neglect might also succumb to it. Jones, founder and president of Vibe magazine whose daughter Kidada was engaged to Shakur at the time of his death, and Jones said that for “the rest of his life” he sought peace in black music.
“We need a coalition of the hip-hop nation,” he said. “I guess hip-hop is closer to the beat of the street than any music we’ve heard in a long time. It’s sociology as much as it is music, which is part of the tradition of black music in America. If you read musicology books, you don’t always get the whole story.
If the majors “participate in the profits of the music” victim of the violence, he added, “they have a responsibility. You gotta keep going, man. What else do you do? Go underneath? I wouldn’t be spending my time on this if I wasn’t thinking positively. The community must pull itself together. We want to help these young people survive and realize their talents and dreams.
Looking back on his career, Jones chafed at the notion that his later achievements were due to his stature and connections rather than consistently inventive musicality.
“What bothers me is that people, young and old, try to downplay you by saying, ‘Well, the great thing about Quincy is that it has a good phone book… and that ‘he can call anyone!’ » he said in 2001. “Now that’s the funniest thing. I have spent most of my life honing my skills. I wanted to be a great arranger, a great orchestrator and a great composer. That was all from 13. I did my thing. And then I was able to apply all the elements. They see you sitting at a console, holding your head like that, thinking people don’t know what you’re doing. I have made 40,000 arrangements, 40 films, I have worked with all the singers on the planet, Black or White, Nana Mouskouri, Charles Aznavour, Stevie (Wonder). It’s a lot of work. As if you had nothing to do. All you need is a phone book and a bunch of great guys to call. Please, man! This will give you two inches.
Jones was never at a loss for words when it came to setting the record straight regarding critics who tried to paint him as a sellout. Staying true to the art of music in every possible form, Jones may not have sold out, but his work left an undeniable mark and sold hugely.
“I first started as an arranger. That’s how I became a producer,” he said in 2001. “It’s a path you go through as an arranger that opens a lot of doors to understanding. You work with all kinds of different people: Dinah Washington and Billy Eckstine, Tony Bennett, Paul Simon, Sinatra, Aretha (Franklin), Sarah (Vaughan), Ella (Fitzgerald), Carmen McRae. You learn so much from this school. This school doesn’t currently exist, so it’s difficult for them to understand what it’s like. Seven hundred miles a night for years. Traveling in this group bus. Seventy concerts in the Carolinas alone. Twenty-seven in California. Everywhere. It’s ridiculous. And I’ll find myself stuck with a big band in Europe, and some idiot will come and talk to me about selling. Please. Give me a break. Yo mom!
