However, Jones had no intention of repeating his previous business glories, 75 million albums sold and 13 of the 28 Grammy Awards he won within the Eighties. Jones envisioned an idea album that might mix black musical expression, from Zulu choral songs, jazz and gospel to R&B, funk and the latest member of the family, hip-hop.

Just just a few years earlier, Jones had planned an unlikely collaboration in 1987 between Jackson, nicknamed the King of Pop, and Queens, New York hip-hop group Run-DMC on an anti-drug song called “Crack Kills” that was never realized. above the bottom. Jones believed that rap, a young and controversial art form, deserved a seat on the table. So in the summertime of 1989, he invited hip-hop artists Melle Mel, Ice-T, Kool Moe Dee and Big Daddy Kane to a recording session in Los Angeles. Eyebrows rose.

The uncompromising rappers were actually out of line An excellent American songbook luminaries reminiscent of Ray Charles, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan. – What are we going to do with this s…? The 4 MCs wondered aloud after Jones played them the New Jack Swing title track, Melle Mel recalled in a 2001 book. The Master calmed them down. “Stretch,” Jones said. “It’s about solving the mind, not polluting the mind, about staying authentic on the streets and true to yourself.”

For Ice-T, the godfather of West Coast gangsta rap, Jones’ signature was powerful. “As rappers, we don’t get as much respect from the music community.” Ice-T said in the course of the premiere of the documentary in 1990. “But now when someone of Quincy’s caliber says, ‘Yo, rap is hot… all you losers need to leave it alone now.’ “

Jones saw hip-hop as a full-fledged, legitimate movement. In 1986, he threw his son, rap fanatic Quincy Jones III, a surprise party at Canastel’s restaurant in Manhattan. Everyone from Run-DMC, LL Cool J and the Beastie Boys to The Fat Boys, Roxanne Shante, Whodini and Kurtis Blow were in the home.

“It was clear then – at least to some of us – that rap had made its mark on our culture,” Jones said, looking back. “This was our newest baby and she was here to stay.”

For Jones, this wasn’t a cheeky attempt at being a cool dad. When he saw his son’s wide-eyed meeting of tight-knit MCs, he was reminded of the primary time he met his bebop jazz heroes 35 years earlier, who, just like the burgeoning hip-hop scene, faced opposition from social activists, politicians and law enforcement.

This was the golden age of hip-hop, producing artists reminiscent of Eric B. & Rakim, Too $hort, Salt-N-Pepa, Public Enemy, NWA, De La Soul and Queen Latifah. Rappers went platinum and sold out arenas. Critics and fans praised the youthful genre for its dynamic wordplay, unfiltered urban social commentary, and groundbreaking use of a production technique called sampling. Critics of rap have described it as the perfect noise for youth and, at worst, a threat to the community.

But Jones saw the longer term of hip-hop. And it went beyond music. Impressed by the witty comedic rhymes and Middle American charm of 21-yr-old rapper Will Smith, one half of the double-platinum Philadelphia duo Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince, Jones asked Smith to check out for a starring role in a brand new comedy series he was executive producing for NBC.

“Rap is not the main thing,” Jones told the magazine in 1990. “If you eliminated rap, the premise wouldn’t fall apart. But rap gives you the purest street consciousness.” became a rankings hit and launched Smith on the trail to becoming one in all Hollywood’s most profitable movie stars.

Jones wasn’t done. In 1993, he co-founded the magazine, a glossy hip-hop publication that gave rappers like Snoop Doggy Dogg, TLC, OutKast, Master P, The Notorious BIG and Lil’ Kim the identical serious, long-read gravitas as ’70s white rockers. Jones along with his magazine’s biggest cover star, Tupac Shakur, nevertheless, was more complex.

When Shakur was interviewed by the magazine in 1993, – he rushed at Jones regarding his relationships with white women and having “f**ked up children.” “I wasn’t happy at first,” Jones said in 2012. “He attacked me for having all these white wives. And my daughter Rashida, who went to Harvard, wrote a letter to separate him.

Things eventually took a positive turn when Shakur met Jones’ daughter, Kidada (the couple later became engaged). “I remember dropping Rashida off at Jerry’s deli one night, and Tupac was talking to Kidada because he had fallen in love with her,” Jones recalled in an interview. “Like an idiot, I walked up to him, put my hands on his shoulders and said, ‘Pac, we need to sit down and talk, man.’ If he had a gun, I would be finished. But we talked. He apologized. We became very close after that.”

Jones remained one in all hip-hop’s strongest defenders even after the deaths of two of hip-hop’s brightest stars. In 1997, he wrote an impassioned editorial condemning the murders of Shakur and The Notorious B.I.G. as “senseless” and calling the East Coast-West Coast rap war a “sad farce”. But when a reporter asked Jones about negative criticism of hip-hop, he responded.

“Condemning hip-hop is tantamount to condemning two generations of our youth, and it is a far-reaching indictment that we cannot allow.” he said. “It hurts the situation more than it helps.”

Over the years, Jones’ relationship with hip-hop has remained close. He appeared within the music video for Wu-Tang Clan’s 1997 song “Triumph” and wrote the music for 50 Cent’s 2005 film. After his death, tributes poured in from hip-hop artists praising the person who embraced the culture.

“,” Jones rapped within the prologue to the song, which sold 3 million copies and won seven Grammy Awards, including album of the yr in 1991. Melle Mel, Ice-T, Kool Moe Dee and Big Daddy Kane won a Grammy for best rap performance performed by a duo or group.

Mission achieved.