The world just lost a giant, and not just any giant—this one had 28 Grammys, more charisma than your favorite cool uncle, and a Rolodex so legendary it practically had its own zip code. Yes, the iconic producer, composer, and all-around music wizard Quincy Jones has moonwalked off this earthly stage at the age of 91. Cue the world’s smallest violin, except in this case, it’s probably being played by Yo-Yo Ma in a Grammy-winning tribute.
Quincy passed away peacefully at his Bel-Air home (because where else would a king rest his crown?) on Sunday, November 3. In a statement from his family that was equal parts heartwarming and tear-inducing, they shared: “Tonight, with full but broken hearts, we must share the news of our father and brother Quincy Jones’ passing. And although this is an incredible loss for our family, we celebrate the great life that he lived and know there will never be another like him. He is truly one of a kind and we will miss him dearly; we take comfort and immense pride in knowing that the love and joy, that were the essence of his being, was shared with the world through all that he created. Through his music and his boundless love, Quincy Jones’ heart will beat for eternity.”
Okay, let’s just pause for a moment and digest that. “Quincy Jones’ heart will beat for eternity” is officially the most poetic thing you’ve read today, and it’s not even from a movie script. This man didn’t just have hits; he had heartbeats set to rhythms that even the gods bobbed their heads to.
Now, let’s talk credentials. Quincy was not just good at his job—he was so good he basically redefined what it meant to be “good at your job.” If awards were desserts, he’d be Willy Wonka in a factory of golden statues. We’re talking 28 Grammys! That’s more than a whole shelf; that’s a room of little golden gramophones singing his praises. And don’t even get us started on the fact that he produced Thriller—yes, the Thriller—earning him eight of those shiny trophies in one go. Imagine having a career highlight that moonwalks past everyone else’s entire life work.
And Quincy wasn’t picky with his collaborators; he worked with everyone from Frank Sinatra (because you can’t spell “classy” without Ol’ Blue Eyes) to Michael Jackson (because you can’t spell “iconic” without MJ), Aretha Franklin, Lionel Richie, and a list so long it would give Santa’s scroll a run for its money.
He leaves behind seven kids who, let’s be real, are each cooler than most of us combined: Rashida Jones (who you probably remember as the queen of deadpan in Parks and Rec), Kidada Jones, Kenya Kinski-Jones, Quincy Jones III, Jolie Jones Levine, Martina Jones, and Rachel Jones. And don’t forget the trio of grandkids, who now have bragging rights that their grandpa changed the world and also probably knew how to throw a dinner party that would make the Oscars look like a backyard BBQ.
RIP to the man who put the “Q” in cool. Rest assured, Quincy, the beat goes on—just with a little less groove now that you’re not here to show us how it’s really done.
