"Quincy Delight Jones Jr. was born on the South Side of Chicago on March 14, 1933, to Quincy Sr. — a carpenter who worked for local gangsters..."

"... and Sarah (Wells) Jones, a musically talented Boston University graduate. At one point in the late 1930s, Quincy and his brother, Lloyd, were separated from their mother, who had developed a schizophrenic disorder, and taken by their father to Louisville, Ky., where they were put in the care of their maternal grandmother, a former enslaved worker...."

From "Quincy Jones, Giant of American Music, Dies at 91/As a producer, he made the best-selling album of all time, Michael Jackson’s 'Thriller.' He was also a prolific arranger and composer of film music" (NYT).

The name Michael Jackson makes the headline of this obituary, but there are so many other names in this incredibly rich life story. What a life in music!

Who, when asked what religion are you now, said: "Now? Nothing. I'm a writer. I like doing things alone"?

Answer: James Baldwin.

I'm reading about James Baldwin as a consequence of reading something in the current news — Vulture — which is almost too scurrilous to mention. Quote from The Vulture (to go from the highest quality to the lowest quality remark): "Brando used to go cha-cha dancing with us. He could dance his ass off. He was the most charming motherfucker you ever met. He’d fuck anything. Anything! He’d fuck a mailbox. James Baldwin. Richard Pryor. Marvin Gaye." That's Quincy Jones, who also said: "Trump is just telling [people] what they want to hear. I used to hang out with him. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Limited mentally — a megalomaniac, narcissistic. I can’t stand him. I used to date Ivanka, you know.... Yes, sir. Twelve years ago. Tommy Hilfiger, who was working with my daughter Kidada, said, 'Ivanka wants to have dinner with you.' I said, 'No problem. She’s a fine motherfucker.' She had the most beautiful legs I ever saw in my life. Wrong father, though."

Sorry to burden you with all that, but I was interested in the idea that to be a writer means doing things alone — and that means not wanting it in your head that God is with you (which is a different  issue from whether there really is a God).

People who never learn to drive.

Do you know any? Are you one?

I was just reading about Quincy Jones — in the context of Michael Jackson, unsurprisingly — and, via Wikipedia, I see this:

"Sue! SLOW DOWN!" Quincy Jones screamed, his normally baritone, saxophone-esque voice jumping into Aretha terrain, his body straining against all six racing belts holding him in the seat. In fairness, the Maybach Exelero's salacious side exhaust pipes were bellowing so loudly he had to lean on his own set of pipes just to be heard. I acquiesced, backing the throttle off from snarl to purr. Quincy shot me one of his famous looks. "You are a wild woman! I like that."

And I like firsts (and onlys) - for instance, driving with a legend. So to celebrate my official return to Fortune after a seven-year hiatus, I achieved a double first-and-only: driving with Quincy in the Exelero, an $8 million one-off collaboration between Mercedes' ultra-luxury division, Maybach, and German tire manufacturer Fulda...

Jones doesn't drive, but as a passenger, he's impressed by the Maybach's power....

viI suddenly backed all the way off, the Exelero's power plant burbling raucously; if Darth Vader ever laughed, this is what it would sound like. I wanted to hear the great Mr. Jones explain why he had never actually driven. "When I was 14, I was a passenger in a terrible accident," he said. "After that, it never held any appeal. But this car makes me wish I could drive - it's a high-powered instrument. There's nothing like greatness, honey - please! I recognize it." Hey, I was just happy to be chauffeuring it.