The planet lost a major creative force with the passing of Quincy Delight Jones, on November 3rd, 2024, at the age of 91. There wasn’t a contemporary musical style the Chicago-born composer, arranger, producer, and 28-time Grammy winner didn’t partake in and help shape—from big band jazz and bubble gum pop to film scores and R&B and hip hop chart-toppers. Indeed, the biggest names in music: Count Basie, Frank Sinatra, Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald, Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, Miles Davis, Stevie Wonder, Chaka Khan, Barbra Streisand, and LL Cool J are just a few who benefitted from Jones’ midas touch. Given his career alignment with the development of the acoustic bass in jazz and especially the birth and first 70 years of the electric bass guitar, Quincy left quite a low end legacy, as well. In his book How the Fender Bass Saved the World [Backbeat, 2001], Jim Roberts quotes music journalist Nelson George, who quotes Jones: “The electric bass really changed the sound of music because it ate up so much space. Its sound was imposing in comparison to the upright bass, so it couldn’t have the same function. You couldn’t just have it playing 4/4 lines because it had too much personality.”

A peek at Jones’ jazz sides reads like a history of swing bass, with names like Paul Chambers, Charles Mingus, Red Mitchell, Leroy Vinnegar, Milt Hinton, Richard Davis, Major Holley, Art Davis, George Duvivier, Ron Carter, Bob Cranshaw, Mike Richmond, and of course, Quincy’s number one vertical call, Ray Brown. On the electric side, Jones’ top thumper was likely the late Louis Johnson, between Quincy discovering and producing the Brothers Johnson and “Thunder Thumbs’” appearance on all of the Q-produced Michael Jackson albums and the “We Are the World” session. But classic tracks were also cut with Carol Kaye, Chuck Rainey, Anthony Jackson, Stanley Clarke, Abraham Laboriel, Neil Stubenhaus, and Nathan East.

Other bassists to appear in Jones’ orbit include Marcus Miller, Christian McBride, Richard Bona, Alex Al, Alphonso Johnson, Max Bennett, Melvin Dunlap, John Clayton, Andrew Gouche, Reggie Hamilton, Sekou Bunch, Nick Movshon, Erick Coomes, and Carlitos Del Puerto. And has there ever been a more star-studded bass lineup on a mainstream album than Quincy’s I Heard That!! [A&M, 1976]? The double platter boasts Carol Kaye, Chuck Rainey, James Jamerson, Ray Brown, Ron Carter, Stanley Clarke, Louis Johnson, Alphonso Johnson, Richard Davis, and Major Holley. And has there ever been a more star-studded bass lineup on a mainstream album than Quincy’s I Heard That!! [A&M, 1976]? The double platter (half new material, half compilation) boasts Carol Kaye, Chuck Rainey, James Jamerson, Ray Brown, Ron Carter, Stanley Clarke, Louis Johnson, Alphonso Johnson, Richard Davis, and Major Holley, and includes the bass tour de force, “Midnight Soul Patrol,” with Stanley, Alphonso, and Louis Johnson together.

We asked eight purveyors of Quincy’s grooves for their insight into the musician and the man.

The Questions:

1) How did you first meet and come to work with Quincy Jones?

2) How would you describe your overall experience working with Quincy?

3) Are there any bass-specific moments that stand out in your memory?

4) What is the main lesson you took away from working with Quincy?

5) Reflecting on his career, what do you think made Quincy a special musical talent?

Carol Kaye:

1) Quincy called me for a record date with Leslie Gore, playing guitar on his first recorded hit; I think it was “It’s My Party,” in 1963. I was already established in the studios on guitar, mandolin, banjo, and Danelctro 6-string bass. By 1964 I was also first call on electric bass and that was right about the time Quincy broke into film scoring. We all saw him learn right on the job how to operate the machinery that puts the music in sync with the film on the screen, from great arrangers like Leo Shuken and Jack Hayes. The respect for Quincy was obvious.

2) Working with Quincy was 60 years ago, so I don’t remember all of it. I do recall that he was easy to work for, always very nice, and he knew what he was doing. He called me to play bass on all of his film scores through the mid-’70s. The Pawnbroker was one of the first ones. He said to me, “Carol, I won’t do a film call without you on bass,” adding something about how my sound cut through so well on films and TV shows. Quincy turned a lot of things around with the jazz and Latin influence in his movie and TV writing, and was part of a lineage of great, upcoming film composers, like Lalo Schifrin, Michel Legrand, and Jerry Goldsmith. I worked for all of them and very much enjoyed film work, as I had grown tired or doing rock and surf records by the late-’60s.

3) One bass-specific moment that I’ve written about in my autobiography is “Hikky Burr.” It was the Bill Cosby show theme song and we re-cut it a few weeks later for one of Quincy’s albums [Smackwater Jack, A&M, 1971], which became a hit single. Quincy knew that I had the ability to pad a part—meaning make a written part my own—or to completely invent a part. The latter is what happened with “Hikky Burr.” There was no written bass part, Quincy said, “Carol, just play something.” It was easy, all in E minor, so I went for it. What Quincy didn’t know was how frustrated I was by that point, as I was being asked by many a producer to “play less notes.” Quincy loved the part, and I put it in my Electric Bass Lines No. 2 book, which he endorsed. For his album version, he took the notated part from my book and overdubbed horns that doubled some of my lines.

4) No one lesson learned per say, though we had many wonderful chats. Quincy was instantly part of the huge engine of the Hollywood recording scene, with hundreds of musicians and composers. He made an indelible mark and everyone loved him.

5) Like me, Quincy was raised in the state of Washington, where he had early on-the-job training playing in Bumps Blackwell’s band, which also had Ray Charles. Bumps started a hip new movement in Hollywood in the late-’50s, producing Little Richard and Sam Cooke. I got to work with Bumps as a jazz guitarist on the L.A. club scene. So Quincy had the benefit of that experience, playing, composing, and arranging, and then he went to Paris to study music theory with Nadia Boulanger. He also wasn’t “afraid” to learn, and he was open to new things. The sum of those parts meant that all of the music he created was with feeling, something a lot of music today lacks.

Chuck Rainey:

1) I was living in New York City in the late-’60s, and one of the major contractors who hired me often was [saxophonist] Jerome Richardson. Jerome called me to do a Quincy Jones session at Rudy Van Gelder Studios, which was for his album, Walking In Space [A&M, 1969]. I got to meet Quincy and Ray Brown, and it was a great experience. About a year later I was in Roberta Flack’s band and an agency put Roberta on an upcoming tour with Quincy. I was looking for a change and I had the sense that I was going to be in Quincy’s band, so I moved to Los Angeles. At the time I also had a two-year offer from the Frankfurt Radio Big Band in Germany, but I wanted to be in Quincy’s band.

2) Quincy was one of the people in my career that I was very close to, socially. And when you’re that in touch with someone socially there’s a lot of trust happening on the music side, as well. He said, many times, “I don’t play the bass, so I don’t write for the bass. I don’t play the drums so I don’t write for the drums.” He was primarily an orchestrator, which is one of the reasons he became a producer because as you orchestrate the music you have to mix it, and he was excellent at mixing. When I think about all the records I’ve done, the productions by Quincy and by Donny Hathaway sound the best. They had great ears for mixing and the bass is always in the perfect place in the mix, not too loud, not too far back, just where it should be.

3) More than a specific bass part I remember that Quincy gave you a lot of freedom. His charts would have some ensemble lines that you would read, but other than that he didn’t write out any grooves. He would maybe give you a groove by grunting and groaning a feel to you. Aside from that, it was the tone. I was fortunate to have always played the same instrument [1957 Fender Precision Bass]. My sound checks in the studio were always less than a minute because that bass only had one sound and it was very clean and clear. That led to my being called for a steady stream of record dates in L.A., which had a lot to do with my association with Quincy and the way my bass sounded on his records. One of my favorite examples is “Along Came Betty” [Body Heat, A&M, 1974].

4) The main lesson I learned from Quincy is how to get along with people, to be friendly with everyone. If you want to get anywhere in life you’ve got to have friends. You want to work with people you like and who like you. When that’s not the case it can become very demanding. Quincy was always a pleasure to be around, in the studio, on tour, and socially. He was very smart, very experienced, and a real cool dude. And we remained friends no matter who his current bassist happened to be. I’m eternally grateful that the universe gave me Q.

5) Quincy was one of the giants. What we saw with him was the tip of the iceberg. But it’s what’s under the water level that made him who he was and what he achieved. He was proud to have come up under the tutelage of Ray Charles. He was a trumpet player who learned from his experiences how to orchestrate, arrange, compose, and produce. And he lived a great, long life when you consider everything that he went through.

Stanley Clarke:

1) I had just moved to California from New York City. I came out with Chick Corea, our band Return To Forever was getting very popular. This was around 1975 or 1976 and Quincy called me to play on one of his records. I think it was called, I Heard That!!. I was living in Beverly Hills and I always got a sense that Quincy really cared about the younger guys. I was fortunate to have experienced that working with Horace Silver and Stan Getz. Quincy called me shortly after I arrived in California just to recommend the doctor I should have, the best drugstore I should use, and the best place to shop for food.

   If you had a chance to hang out with Quincy, you knew that deep in his heart, he was an old-school jazz musician. Many of those musicians knew they had to preserve the survival of “the music,” and had to pass it down to younger musicians. I don’t remember Quincy ever giving off the vibe that he was older and smarter or this or that. He came off as a regular guy that cared.

2) I remember the I Heard That!! session was very relaxed. Bill Withers was on the date. George Duke was, too, and we had a lot of fun. It was great. I believe one of Quincy‘s main talents aside from arranging and choosing music was how brilliant he was at creating a cast—who the players were going to be. That was a lesson I learned from Quincy. Sometimes you can put five of the greatest players together and each player could be a virtuoso in his own right, and everything can sound like shit. All the great sessions I’ve ever been a part of have been with players who are willing to play together and who are very generous, have good attitudes, and truly want to make the session turn out great.

3) To be honest, just to get in a studio with Quincy you had to be well past that idea of what are the bass specifics. I would think you would have to be at the point where you can deliver the goods. The man puts a chart in front of you and you’re sitting there with some of the greatest musicians in the world and you have to deliver. There didn’t seem to be any time to discuss those kind of specifics like should the bass do this or should the bass do that. If I’m doing a session where the music is geared toward supporting a singer in which the rhythm section has to be super tight, coherent, and feeling very good, many of those bass details are going to come very quickly from the group interplay.

4) The main lesson was relax and enjoy yourself. Also, remain wide open for instruction. Plus, I learned the importance of friendship and brotherhood. And when that’s on point it affects the music in a very positive way. Quincy was probably the best producer I ever worked with. You couldn’t ask for a better environment to work in. He loved to communicate and he had a great sense of humor!

5) He was a genius and he understood the importance and the value of people “really” working together. A tremendous recipe for success!

Anthony Jackson:

1) I can’t recall for sure the first time I met Quincy but I believe it was an orchestra date in New York City that I got called to do, and he was very nice. After that he called me to play on The Wiz[Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, MCA, 1978] and then his album, Sounds…and Stuff Like That!! [A&M, 1978].

2) He let the players in the rhythm section do their thing. It wasn’t like an old school session where you were reading a part. He would sit in the control room and just have us play, and finally he’d get on the mic and say, “Guys, that’s good. Let’s do it again and give me a little bit more in the chorus.” I didn’t realize it at the time but he was kind of counting on us to help write the record. I was into experimenting and he let me try everything: fingerstyle, pick and flanger, pick without flanger. And he was always patient whenever I needed to change my strings.

3) On Sounds…and Stuff Like That!!, I considered “Takin’ It to the Streets” as one of the more successful tracks I did for anyone in that era. Quincy really liked the pick and flanger combination. On The Wiz, “Poppy Girls” was a pick and flanger feature based on what I played on [the O’Jays’] “For the Love of Money.” And I didn’t know Quincy gave me a composer credit on it until after the record came out. It was during the course of one of those two records that Quincy said to me, “Anthony, if you ever want to do your own record, call me.”

4) The main lesson would be how well he treated people and how smoothly he communicated with everyone. He never raised his voice to anybody, or expressed disappointment, or pulled a move. He was one of those people that everyone wanted to do their best for. And he was one of the true superstars I got to work with. On the inside of the vinyl double album version of The Wiz, he had photos of each of us in the rhythm section with a tribute that said, “Let it not be forgotten, this is for the greatest rhythm section in the whole world: Steve Gadd, Richard Tee, Eric Gale, and Anthony Jackson.” That really meant a lot to me.

5) He had great humanity above all else. And he was a brilliant organizer, able to combine his well-earned skills as an arranger, orchestrator, composer, producer, and gift for putting together ensembles that played well together. We’ve lost another giant.

Neil Stubenhaus:

1) Around 1981 I got a call to do Ernie Watts’ album, Chariots of Fire [Qwest, 1982], which Quincy was producing. I believe [trumpeter/arranger] Jerry Hey recommended me. J.R. [Robinson] was on drums, who I knew from Berklee, but it was my first recording with him in L.A. The record went well, we finished it in two days, and Quincy started calling me for other record dates. I did an early session for “Beat It” and another where we came up with “Secret Garden” [later released on Back on the Block, Qwest, 1989].

2) Playing with Quincy is the honor of a lifetime. From the moment I got turned onto Walking In Space and Gula Matari  [A&M, 1970], it was my dream to work with him, as it was for every musician. He was a musician producer. He let you play. He got the best out of you and then he did his tweaking, as opposed to a lot of record producers who come in with their concept for the music and give directions before the playing starts. Only a musician producer lets the music evolve to where everyone has honed in on their parts before giving their input, and that was Quincy.

3) “Cool Joe, Mean Joe (Killer Joe)” [Q’s Jook Joint, Qwest, 1995] was probably the best experience for me, bass-wise. Quincy wanted to do an updated version of the song, which I knew well. I started a groove and a part, everyone else jumped in, and it fell together in two takes. In general, Quincy would listen to what I was playing while I was trying out ideas before a track and he always liked it better than what was originally intended. He had huge ears. He gave me a lot of freedom and there’s nothing I like more than musical freedom because I never want to be confined to a part I’m not really feeling. I’m always better at playing how I hear something than what someone dictates.

4) Personally, there were probably a thousand lessons. We had long talks about all kinds of things musical, philosophical, and political; how to treat people, how to put yourself out there. We saw eye to eye on so much. He was always searching for the latest talent, asking me what new artists were out there who were great. I’d tell him to listen to Yellowjackets, or later it was Dirty Loops. Probably the key lesson I took was to listen to the music first and foremost because that’s what it’s all about. And the main lesson to other record producers is to pay attention to how Quincy worked with musicians and how he got the most out of them.

5) He was worldly. He understood racial and cultural differences, and he was blind to color. As a result, he transcended all kinds of barriers and B.S. that would limit others. He took his rough and wild upbringing and used it as a learning tool rather than a bad experience that had to be dealt with. He learned from everyone and everything around him, starting with Ray Charles, whom he called his teacher, and incorporated that into being Quincy Jones. He had the wisdom and the skills but he was also the most ego-less guy in the room. There was nobody like him.

Nathan East:

1) Believe it or not, I was first introduced to Quincy by Cannonball Adderly when I was a teenager. I was in a band called Power and we were on tour opening for Cannonball. He liked us so much that he called Quincy to tell him about us and then marched us into Quincy’s house to play for him. This was 1974. I remember movies stars were there and Quincy was excited about the band and talked about wanting to produce us. Then he had his brain aneurysm, so it never came to fruition. One of the first times he called me after that was equally exasperating: I had left on a Monday to go on tour with Kenny Loggins and on Tuesday Quincy called me for the Off the Wall [Epic, 1979] sessions. From there, one of the first records I did with Quincy was “How Do You Keep the Music Playing?” for James Ingram’s album [It’s Your Night, Qwest, 1983]. And I finally got to work with Quincy and Michael Jackson on “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You” [Bad, Epic, 1987].

2) My times working with Quincy in the studio were probably my most exhilirating, for a number of reasons. First, you’re in a room with the top of the top musicians in L.A.; the standard was very high. And then Quincy was just the nicest guy, in addition to being the number one producer. You could feel the brotherhood and camaraderie at all times. When you get to a date like that it brings out something in you that you didn’t even know you had. And for me to this day, one of the most incredible things about Quincy is that for a guy who didn’t play on those records it still sounds like Quincy. Pure genius!

3) For Back on the Block [Qwest, 1989], Quincy asked me to play on his version of “Birdland” and recreate some of the Jaco parts, which was a true honor. I walked into the control room and Quincy had Sarah Vaughan in the vocal booth for her part on the track. He said, “Sarah, come on in here, Nate’s here and he’s gonna lay down his part, it should only be five or ten minutes.” I took out my bass and Sarah, Quincy, and [engineer] Bruce Swedien were all a few feet away from me. I never felt more pressure to get it right the first time!

   In general, Quincy never really told you what to play, but on one session for a ballad, he asked me to play a pickup going into the second verse. He sang this little curl going into the verse and I remember thinking, Wow, that’s why he’s the guy. It was a brilliant idea that I wouldn’t have come up with and to this day I use that concept for building a part in a song. Another approach from him is to start up high and drop down the octave for the second verse. Just little details that almost go unspoken, but they’re formulas you can use the rest of your career.

4) One of the main lessons I learned is how to treat people properly. With Quincy you weren’t just getting musical lessons, you were with a guru of life. You learned on so many levels because he loved sharing his loads of wisdom. He would talk and tell stories until three in the morning after a session, and in the back of your mind you’re thinking, Don’t you have to be somewhere? He was the busiest guy ever but you never felt like you were keeping him. He engaged with you and asked about your family. One of his favorite sayings was, “Love, laugh, live and give.” That was his mantra and he did every one of them to the highest degree.

5) By now we’ve used up all of the superlatives in the dictionary to describe Quincy. If I had to sum it up in one word it would be, “visionary.” His humanity was infused into every note of his music. He’s the type of towering figure who comes along once in a lifetime, and it’s the end of an era, for sure.

Abraham Laboriel:

1) I first became aware of Quincy Jones from his album The Birth of a Band [Mercury, 1959, Milt Hinton on bass] and I’ve been a serious fan of his ever since. I could never ever have imagined I was going to be a part of his life. My first opportunity to work with him was for the soundtrack of The Color Purple [Qwest, 1986]. I got a call from John Bahler, a Los Angeles session vocalist, who said, “Quincy wants you to come down and play upright bass.” I begged Quincy to let me play electric bass, even noting that some people thought I was using a fretless bass. But he said, “No, I need you to bring your upright because I’m reproducing the 1930s and back then people couldn’t discern the upright but they could feel it, and that’s what I want.” I warned him that my intonation wasn’t great and he said, “Don’t worry.” I showed up sheepishly with my upright bass and half the orchestra was top film musicians and the other half were Count Basie musicians—I was so embarrassed. The piece was in Ab, so no open strings, and the engineer, Huberto Gatica, just to tease me, yells into the mic, “Hey Quincy, are you sure you want me to record the upright bass, it’s very out of tune!” After that he called me to play on George Benson’s Give Me the Night[Warner Bros., 1980] and The Dude [A&M, 1981].

2) For me it was a highly positive experience. The very first time I got to talk to Quincy was at 2:30 one afternoon, and he says, “Abraham, I want you to meet Clare Fischer,” someone I’d long admired. But Clare refused to shake my hand and started deriding Quincy, “You told me to meet you here at 2:00 and it’s 2:30 and you still haven’t talked to me!” Quincy was quickly able to put Clare at peace and we had an enjoyable meeting. He was the consummate diplomat. He was also firmly focused. In the liner notes for The Birth of a Band, Count Basie praises Quincy and jokingly adds, “If only he could learn how to drive.” Quincy never learned how to drive because he always lived in places with great public transportation. I think that’s part of what kept his mind so focused. He never had to worry where his wallet or his keys were. He wanted to focus on the music and the arrangements. He had decided long ago what was crucial and anything that wasn’t crucial he would not pay attention to.

3) The Dude was very special because Stevie Wonder showed up with some songs he was writing for Quincy. For “Betcha’ Wouldn’t Hurt Me,” he started playing a busy bass line with his left hand, and he says “Abraham, play this!” I thought, Oh man how am I gonna learn that? Eventually I was able to play it with him and that became the foundation of the song, which he finished on the spot. A month later Quincy called me to say that he wanted Louis Johnson to play on the song, and he asked if I could come in and teach Louis the bass part. I told him I would be happy to, and I appreciated the honesty. In music I’ve always believed we don’t compete, we collaborate. The Give Me the Night sessions were similar. Rod Temperton had specific ideas he wanted, but when I started interpreting them my way, Quincy, Rod, and George, said, “Do that, do that!” Then they found a way to add synth bass to some of my parts and it became a beautiful alliance that made the music stronger and funkier. That’s how Quincy was, he always “made an error” in favor of the music. My favorite track on the record, as a graduate of Berklee who transcribed the original James Moody version, was “Moody’s Mood.” Those guys let me go in any direction I wanted, and it’s a part I will always be proud of. 

4) Many people know this Quincy cliché, and he actually said it to me. When Quincy and [engineer] Bruce Swedien were working with Michael Jackson they had multiple 24-track machines that they would just fill with tracks. And then Bruce, very disciplined, would make notes on a yellow pad about each track; what they did, what comments were made, what people were feeling. Eventually, when they were going to revisit the song, Bruce would find the pad to remind Quincy of their thoughts. It was in that context that Quincy once said to me, “Abraham, I’ve found the secret of producing is what you don’t use.” That was the main lesson I took from him. He would have hundreds of tracks, listen to each one and make a decision, and he would end up with only a few tracks. The elimination process was key for him.

5) What made Quincy so special is how he was able to translate the pain and the sorrow into uplifting music for others to enjoy. He truly and personally understood what suffering was and he made it a positive. That’s the one thing I will never forget about him.

Alex Al:

1) Early in my early musical career I was hired as the bassist for Quincy’s TV show, Vibe. He was also one of the first people who congratulated me on becoming Michael Jackson’s new bass player in 2001. I was backstage after the first of two nights with MJ at Madison Square Garden. Quincy came backstage after and said, “Man, you were destroying that bass!” I said, “Mr Jones, is that a good thing?” He laughed and said, “Yes, young brother, it’s a great thing, but did you get those Ray Brown records I told you about?” Quincy was always very encouraging. He’d ask me, “How’s your upright playing coming along?” and “How is your composing coming along?” And he’d remind me, “You gotta complete that circle of music; don’t even think about staying in one lane, musically.” He’d say, “When you do a funk solo on the electric bass, where do you go from there? You should be able to put the electric down and pick up the double bass with equal skill, and set it afire in the same way—but with jazz sensibilities and compositional knowledge.” Some time later I ended up playing with him, live, and he remained a mentor.

2) Working with Quincy was amazing and among my greatest experiences as a bassist to date. Having an opportunity to play pop, jazz, and big band music with Quincy conducting was an absolute life-changing experience. Plus he was a wealth of information. He would always take the time to sit down and ask direct music questions about what I was doing and why. He encouraged me to think larger musically and commit to being a total musician, no excuses. I remain grateful for the knowledge and the inspiration he left in me as a musician, composer, producer and bassist. I’m certain that the hundreds of musicians who’ve worked with Quincy over the decades feel the same way.

3) Bass-wise, it was general guidance. He taught me to always remain aware of dynamics when playing through an amp, and not to overpower the room just because I can. Ray Brown was Quincy’s favorite bass player and dearest friend, so he was constantly telling me to dig deep into Ray when it came to ensemble and big band playing, and of course his brilliant improvisational skills. 

4) The main lesson I took away was that there’s something to learn from every style of music. My father used to play Quincy’s album, The Quintessence [Impulse!, 1962, with Milt Hinton and Buddy Catlett on bass] all the time, and he handed it down to me. When I told Quincy it was a favorite of mine he was impressed that I knew it and it gave us a connection. That record defined the sound of modern progressive big band. I’m always amazed how certain composers can reach several generations and then some. Quincy never composed or arranged music just for the period he created it in. He arranged and conducted the first music ever played on the moon, with Frank Sinatra and Count Basie’s “Fly Me To The Moon” [It Might as Well Be Swing, Reprise, 1964], and he partnered with Michael Jackson for Thriller [Epic, 1982], the greatest selling pop album of all time. His music is timeless and can be found in all genres. I’m still learning the lesson of staying open to all types of music. Quincy always said that there’s soul in every form of music, if you embrace it with love, sincerity, and an open mind.

5) Quincy was a once in a lifetime, genre-defying producer, arranger, conductor, musician, artist, record executive, film composer, businessman, entrepreneur, and most of all an incredible human being. He inspired musicians to be at the top of their craft by learning more and taking chances. He reminded you to be kind and respectful towards the art and he always brought everyone up to their next level. Most of all, Quincy simply wanted to see us all thrive and win. He was truly one of a kind and I will miss him dearly.

Bass and Stuff Like That

Quincy Jones’ composing, arranging, and producing skills, knack for putting together ensembles that gel, and feel for when to give a musician space and freedom—coupled with the creativity of the particular bassist on the session, has led to some immortal bass lines.

Ex. 1 shows Ray Brown’s seminal sub hook on Jones’ “Walking in Space” from Walking in Space. The song and bass line were written by Galt MacDermot from his score to the musical, Hair [RCA, 1968], which Quincy covered with a memorable arrangement. Brown makes the part his own on his upright and alternates between double-time walking and half-time soul-funk, backing up a half dozen all-star soloists—including Freddie Hubbard and Bob James. Brown’s propulsive walking line on “Killer Joe,” from the same album is another bass anthem.

Ex. 2 contains the opening four bars of “Hikky Burr,” as played by Carol Kaye on Jones’ Smackwater Jack album (slightly different from the version she plays on the theme song for the Bill Cosby Show). Dig the initial double-stops and the syncopated groove. Kaye plays no two measures the same in a burst of brilliant improvisation.

Ex. 3 has the opening six bars of “Sanford and Son Theme (The Streetbeater)” at 0:08, by the inimitable Chuck Rainey. His trademark double-stops (bars 1 and 2 ), upper-register fill against an open D string (bar 3), and 16th-note-based syncopation throughout infuse the part.

Ex. 4 shows the four-bar groove (with pickup) of “Poppy Girls” from The Wiz soundtrack, as conceived by Anthony Jackson, using a pick and flanger. Jackson echoes some of his moves on the O’Jay’s “(For the Love of) Money,” but the part stands on its own thanks to his pinpoint ascending octave figure and his measure 2 trill.

Ex. 5 has the first six measures of the first verse of “Betcha’ Wouldn’t Hurt Me,” from The Dude, at 0:48. Written by Stevie Wonder and sung by Patti Austin, the song has quite a bass lineage. Wonder, who is heavily influenced by James Jamerson, developed the part with Abraham Laboriel on the original session. Jones then asked Laboriel to teach his part to Louis Johnson, whose interpretation is on the record version. Note Johnson’s always greasy, slapped octaves throughout, and his infamous thumb playing all but the last note in the bar 4 fill.

Finally, Ex. 6 contains the eight-bar groove created by Neil Stubenhaus for Jones’ remake of “Killer Joe,” dubbed “Cool Joe, Mean Joe (Killer Joe)” on Q’s Jook Joint, featuring Queen Latifah, Tone Loc, and Nancy Wilson. The quarter-note followed by triplet groove and the ear-grabbing turnaround in measure 8 (the second ending) came to Stubenhaus on the spot.