'He was not a man. He was music.': Remembering Quincy Jones

Legendary music producer Quincy Jones passed away this past Sunday at age 91. 

He was the mind behind hits like Michael Jackson's Thriller, Lesley Gore's You Don't Own Me, the all-star charity single We Are the World, and so many more. He worked with everyone from Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson, Amy Winehouse and The Weeknd.

Today on Commotion, music critic Maura Johnston and Michael Williams, a friend of Quincy's and former MuchMusic VJ, reflect on his incomparable legacy and where they can still see and hear his impact today.

We've included some highlights below, edited for length and clarity. For the full discussion, listen and follow Commotion with Elamin Abdelmahmoud on your favourite podcast player.

Elamin: Michael, what went through your mind when you heard that Quincy had passed?

Michael: I woke up to condolences on my phone from friends that knew that we were friends. It took a while before I cried. I thought a lot … the memories and stuff. So like when my sister passed, I had to remember to keep him in my heart and in my consciousness. He was a part of me, so as long as I keep that part going in me, that part could never expire because there was so much time that we spent together before I knew him and after I knew him that I was grateful. His presence in my life was more than a blessing.

Elamin: That's a really beautiful way to put it. Maura, how did the news land for you when you heard that Quincy had died?

Maura: It just felt like a chapter of popular music was ending, you know? Because he was so crucial to so much of it, during the 20th century especially. There are so many aspects of pop music that his influence touched, directly and indirectly. The phrase "the end of an era" is used a lot, but I think that's very apt here.

Elamin: I think that's a really excellent way to put it. I think when you look back at the career of Quincy Jones, there are so many layers to dig into.

Honestly, Quincy is kind of everywhere. Michael, before he was a superstar pop producer, Quincy had been, of course, a storied band leader, a storied soundtrack composer in the '50s and '60s. How do you think that foundation helps him achieve this pop kingmaker status that comes later?

Michael: And even before that, he was hanging with Charlie Parker. One of his first bands had Ray Charles in it, you know? The man who basically invented soul music singlehandedly, along with Sam Cooke, and revolutionized country music. So music was his sanctuary. Music was his hiding place. Music was his world, and it was easier for him to exist in that world than other worlds. And his education was next to none with Nadia Boulanger in France, Pierre Boulez, who was one of the first electronic music composers — he was always ahead of his time. He was the one who told Robert Moog, when Robert Moog asked him, "Why don't Black musicians use my Moog?" He said, "Because you can't bend the notes." So he put in the wheel, bent the notes, everybody started to use it. 

Elamin: That's a different kind of revolutionary, when you can sort of imagine the way that technology could serve an entirely different purpose. He's someone who just kind of saw the whole board at all times.

Quincy is everywhere, even in places you don't always think of him to be, Michael. Where do you see Quincy?

Michael: Absolutely. I see Quincy— if anything, I've patterned myself after him unknowingly, so being everywhere that Black people weren't expected to be. 

Elamin: That's a beautiful way to put it. 

Michael: If he could feel the soul in it, or discover the soul in it, or even bring the soul to it, he could do it. He found songs by Rod Temperton from Heatwave to work perfectly with Michael Jackson. He turned Michael Jackson's vocal ability for doing his demos and singing everything…. and Quincy came in and took them, put them together. And then I think he was the one who called Eddie Van Halen, you know? And you might not expect him to call Eddie Van Halen. He just offered himself to every style of music that was important, that he could feel. He was a part of music. 

He was not a man. He was music. He didn't have blood. He had notes.… There was a hopefulness of him that things could and would happen. And he made things happen, and everybody showed up for him. If you look at his records, they were like Noah's musical arc.

You can listen to the full discussion from today's show on CBC Listen or on our podcast, Commotion with Elamin Abdelmahmoud, available wherever you get your podcasts.

Panel produced by Stuart Berman and Jess Low.