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Quincy Jones, in his own words for the L.A. Times: 'If it can’t get funky, brother, you don’t touch it'

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Quincy Jones, in his own words for the L.A. Times:  'If it can’t get funky, brother, you don’t touch it'

The late Quincy Jones’ life spanned the entirety of modern American pop music — a tradition he absorbed, influenced and reinvented for generations. It’s remarkable to look back on the composer, arranger and producer’s life and hear him speak on his friendships and work with Sidney Poitier, Lena Horne, Ella Fitzgerald, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson and Tupac Shakur, among hundreds more.

Over the years, The Times spoke to Jones — who died Sunday at 91 — at many junctures in his career, where he recalled being a Black composer in Hollywood in a less-enlightened mid-century climate; making perhaps the biggest pop album of the century with Michael Jackson, and his heartbreak over gangsta rap’s real world violence that touched his family.

Jones’ philosophy on music was cosmopolitan and curious from the start. He traveled widely, and as a composer, he learned from European classical and folk traditions, pairing them with the innovations of Black art forms like American jazz.

Traditional music “enhances your soul,” he told The Times in 2001. “Because you see that most countries, the evolution of their music is based on the roots of their folk music, like ours is. [Béla] Bartók came out of Hungarian folk music. The Scandinavian folklore is awesome. All those tunes that Miles [Davis] and Stan Getz played, ‘Dear Old Stockholm,’ beautiful folk music, you can’t believe how beautiful it is. Traveling is the best education there is. You’re experiencing their food that they like to eat and their language and their music. And that’s the soul. That’s the real stuff. They would tell us: Don’t go to the souk [a marketplace or bazaar]! Don’t go to the casbah! That’s just where we went. That’s like going to the ‘hood! I’m right up in there in a minute, baby.”

Jazz, one of his first loves, imbued everything he did in film scores, pop and education. “[Count] Basie, Clark Terry, it was an amazing education,” he said. “I talk a lot now. But I used to sit down and shut up and listen to them. Because old people know what they are talking about, they’ve been there. All of the young brothers that call Louis Armstrong a ‘Tom’ and all that stuff. This is the man who invented our music. He had no samples, he has no radio station or nothing to listen to. He’s just inventing it. Art Blakey told Branford Marsalis, ‘We had to take a lot so you can do your little flip stuff.’ It’s true. There is a lot of blood out there.”

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“Before I die, I want to be a part of a way for Americans to know their own music,” he added. “They don’t get it. We’ve got the greatest mother ship on the planet. We’ve got to talk to the administration. We need a minister of culture — I don’t want to do it, but we need one. Everyone’s got one. This country’s culture is the Esperanto of the world. It’s the first thing that they cut from schools, but if they had it, [there] would be a better spirit in the country.”

Jones came to early renown as a film composer, where he wrote the scores to Oscar-winning “In the Heat of the Night,” “The Wiz,” “In Cold Blood” and “The Color Purple,” among many others. But breaking that ground was an often lonely endeavor for a Black artist in mid-century Hollywood.

“Sidney Poitier and I were the only ones out there,” said Jones, who scored several films starring Poitier, a close friend. “He handed me the baton for composers.”

As recording technology evolved away from simply documenting live performances to an artistic craft of its own, Jones adapted his methods for a new era. But he always tried to emphasize the human qualities of being in a room together with a band, reading each other.

“The essence of the music is designed to interact. Synthesizers and drum machines? That’s not interaction,” he said in 2001. “When I recorded with [Frank] Sinatra, Sinatra sitting right there in the booth, looking me, the rhythm section and the trumpet section straight in the eye. That was the only way we knew. And I can handle it any different way. Because I’ve worked with all the generations. It keeps moving. A lot of the guys didn’t want to change. … Now it’s modular and layers and overdubs and all of that.”

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Yet Jones was quick to see the potential in new electronic instruments, and used a then-nascent Moog synthesizer to write his theme for 1967’s “Ironside.”

“Robert Moog said to me, ‘Quincy, why don’t the brothers use my instrument?’ ” he recalled in 2017. “I said, ’Cause, man, No. 1: we sculpt an electronic signal into a sine wave that’s smooth, or a sawtooth, which is rough. The problem with it, though, is it doesn’t bend. And if it doesn’t bend, it can’t get funky. And if it can’t get funky, brother, you don’t touch it.’ So he came up with a pitch-bender and a portamento on it … and I got it, real quick.”

In the world of pop music, Jones’ work with Jackson, especially on the era-dominating LP “Thriller,” changed everything . “It was the perfect convergence of forces,” he said, in 2009’s moving reminiscence after Jackson’s death. ”In the music business, every decade you have a phenomenon. In the ‘40s you had Sinatra, in the ‘50s Elvis [Presley], in the ‘60s the Beatles. …In the ‘80s you had Michael Jackson.”

Jones discussed how he refined the gifts that made Jackson such a potent performer. “We owned the ‘80s and our souls would be connected forever,” he said. “Evoking Fred Astaire, Sammy Davis Jr. and James Brown all at once, he’d work for hours, perfecting every kick, gesture and movement so that they came together precisely the way they were intended to. We tried all kinds of tricks that I’d learned over the years to help him with his artistic growth, like dropping keys just a minor third to give him flexibility and a more mature range in the upper and lower registers, and more than a few tempo changes. I also tried to steer him to songs with more depth, some of them about real relationships…

“At one point during the session, the right speaker burst into flames. How’s that for a sign?” He asked. “It’s no accident that almost three decades later, no matter where I go in the world, in every club and karaoke bar, like clockwork, you hear ‘Billie Jean,’ ‘Beat It,’ ‘Wanna Be Starting Something,’ ‘Rock With You’ and ‘Thriller.’ ”

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After Jackson’s ‘80s peak, as hip-hop became the dominant commercial force in pop music, he spoke with sadness and insight about how music designed to reflect real-world pain and neglect could also succumb to it. Jones, the founder and chairman of Vibe magazine whose daughter Kidada was engaged to Shakur at the time of his death, and Jones said for “the rest of my life” he’d pursuing peace within Black music.

“We need a coalition of the hip-hop nation,” he said. “I guess hip-hop has been closer to the pulse of the streets than any music we’ve had in a long time. It’s sociology as well as music, which is in keeping with the tradition of black music in America. If you read the musicology books, you don’t always get the full story.”

If major labels “participate in the profits of the music” suffering under violence, he added, “They have a responsibility for it. You’ve got to keep going, man. What else do you do? Go under? I wouldn’t be devoting my time to this if I didn’t think positively. The community has got to get it together. We want to help these young people survive and live out their talents and dreams.”

Looking back on his career, Jones bristled at the idea that his later achievements were due to his stature and connections rather than consistently inventive musicianship.

“What bothers me, people young and old try to minimize you by saying, ‘Well, Quincy’s strongest suit is that he’s got a strong telephone book … and he can just call up anybody!’ ” he said in 2001. “Now that’s the funniest thing. I spent most of my life perfecting my skills. I wanted to be a great arranger, great orchestrator and great composer. That was it from 13. I did my thing. And then I was able to apply all of the elements. They see you sitting at a console holding your head like this, thinking, people don’t know what you’re doing. I’ve done 40,000 arrangements, 40 movies, I’ve worked with every singer on the planet, Black or white, Nana Mouskouri, Charles Aznavour, Stevie [Wonder]. That’s a lot of work. Like you don’t have to do anything. You just have a telephone book and call a bunch of great guys up. Please, man! That will get you two inches.”

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Jones was never short on words when it came to setting the record straight about critics who tried to paint him as a sellout. By staying true to the craft of music in whatever shape or form he could, Jones may not have sold out, but his work made an indisputable mark and sold immensely.

“I started as an arranger first. That’s how I became a producer,” he said in 2001. “It’s a path you go through as an arranger that opens up a lot of doors of understanding. You work with all kinds of different people from Dinah Washington and Billy Eckstine, Tony Bennett, Paul Simon, Sinatra, Aretha [Franklin], Sarah [Vaughan], Ella [Fitzgerald], Carmen McRae. You learn so much by that school. That school doesn’t exist now, so it’s hard for them to understand what that gives you. Seven hundred miles a night for years. Traveling on that band bus. Seventy gigs in just the Carolinas. Twenty-seven in California. Everywhere. It’s ridiculous. And get stranded with a big band in Europe, and some sucker is gonna come talk to me about sellin’ out. Please. Give me a break. Yo mama!”

Movie Reviews

‘Greenland 2: Migration’ Review: Gerard Butler in a Post-Apocalyptic Sequel That’s Exactly What You Expect

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‘Greenland 2: Migration’ Review: Gerard Butler in a Post-Apocalyptic Sequel That’s Exactly What You Expect

Desperate migrants are forced to leave Greenland after a malevolent force makes their island uninhabitable. No, it’s not tomorrow’s headline about Donald Trump, but rather the sequel to Ric Roman Waugh’s 2020 post-apocalyptic survival thriller. That film starring Gerard Butler and Morena Baccarin had the misfortune of opening during the pandemic and going straight to VOD. Greenland 2: Migration (now there’s a catchy title) has the benefit of opening in theaters, but it truly feels like an unnecessary follow-up. After all, how many travails can one poor family take?

That family consists of John Garrity (Butler), whose structural engineering skills designated him a governmental candidate for survival in the wake of an interstellar comet dubbed “Clarke” wreaking worldwide destruction; his wife Allison (Baccarin); and their son Nathan (now played by Roman Griffin Davis). At the end of the first film, the clan had endured numerous life-threatening crises as they made their way to the underground bunker in Greenland where survivors will attempt to make a new life.

Greenland 2: Migration

The Bottom Line

It’s the end of the world as we know it…again.

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Release date: Friday, January 9
Cast: Gerard Butler, Morena Baccarin, Roman Griffin Davis, Amber Rose Revah, Sophie Thompson, Trond Fausa Aurvag, William Abadie
Director: Ric Roman Waugh
Screenwriters: Mitchell LaFortune, Chris Sparling

Rated PG-13,
1 hour 38 minutes

Five years later, things aren’t going so well. Fragments of the comet continue to rain down on the planet, causing catastrophic destruction. The contaminated air prevents people from going outside, and resources are becoming increasingly scarce. But there are some plus sides, such as the bunker’s inhabitants still being able to dance to yacht rock.

When their safe haven in Greenland is destroyed, the Garritys, along with a few other survivors, are forced to flee. Their destination is France, where there are rumors of an oasis at the comet’s original crash site. And at the very least, the food is bound to be better.

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It’s a perilous journey, but anyone who saw the first film knows what to expect. The Garritys, along with the bunker’s Dr. Casey (Amber Rose Revah), run into some very bad people, undergoing a series of life-threatening trials and tribulations.

Unfortunately, while the thriller mechanics are reasonably well orchestrated by director Waugh (Angel Has Fallen, Kandahar) in his fourth collaboration with Butler, Greenland 2: Migration feels as redundant as its title. While the first film featured a relatively original premise and some genuine emotional dynamics in its suspenseful situations, this one just feels rote. And while it’s made clear that the crisis has resulted in people resorting to cutthroat, deadly means to ensure their survival, the Garritys have it relatively easy. All John has to do is adopt a puppy-dog look, put a pleading tone in his voice, beg for his family’s help, and people inevitably comply.

To be fair, the film contains some genuinely arresting scenes, including one set in a practically submerged Liverpool and another in a dried-up English Channel. The latter provides the opportunity for a harrowing sequence in which the family is forced to cross a giant ravine on a treacherously fragile rope ladder.

Butler remains a sturdy screen presence, his Everyman quality lending gravitas to his character. Baccarin, whose character serves as the story’s moral conscience (early in the proceedings she spearheads a fight to open the shelter to more refugees despite the lack of resources, delivering a not-so-subtle message), more than matches his impact. William Abadie (of Emily in Paris) also makes a strong impression as a Frenchman who briefly takes the family in and begs them to take his daughter Camille (Nelia Valery de Costa) along with them.

Resembling the sort of B-movie fantasy adventure, with serviceable but unremarkable special effects, that used to populate multiplexes in the early ‘70s, Greenland 2: Migration is adequate January filler programming. The only thing it’s missing is dinosaurs.

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Paramount stands by bid for Warner Bros. Discovery

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Paramount stands by bid for Warner Bros. Discovery

Paramount is staying the course on its $30-a-share bid for Warner Bros. Discovery, again appealing directly to shareholders.

The move comes after Warner Bros. Discovery’s board voted unanimously this week to reject Paramount’s revised bid, in which billionaire Larry Ellison agreed to personally guarantee the equity portion of his son’s firm’s financing package.

Paramount Skydance, in a Thursday statement, sidestepped Warner’s latest complaints about the enormous debt load that Paramount would need to pull off a takeover. Paramount instead said the appeal of its bid should be obvious: $30 a share in cash for all of Warner Bros. Discovery, including its large portfolio of cable channels, including CNN, HGTV, TBS and Animal Planet.

Warner board members have countered that Netflix’s $27.75 cash and stock bid for much of the company is superior because Netflix is a stronger company. Warner also has complained that it would have to incur billions in costs, including a $2.8-billion break-up fee, if it were to abandon the deal it signed with Netflix on Dec. 4.

The streaming giant has agreed to buy HBO, HBO Max and the Warner Bros. film and television studios, leaving Warner to spin off its basic cable channels into a separate company later this year.

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The murky value of Warner’s cable channel portfolio has become a bone of contention in the company’s sale.

“Our offer clearly provides WBD investors greater value and a more certain, expedited path to completion,” Paramount Chief Executive David Ellison said in Thursday’s statement. Paramount said it had resolved all the concerns that Warner had raised last month, “most notably by providing an irrevocable personal guarantee by Larry Ellison for the equity portion of the financing.”

Paramount is gambling that Warner investors will evaluate the two offers and sell their shares to Paramount. Stockholders have until Jan. 21 to tender their Warner shares, although Paramount could extend that deadline.

The Netflix transaction offers Warner shareholders $23.25 in cash, $4.50 in Netflix stock and shares in the new cable channel company, Discovery Global, which Warner hopes to create this summer.

Comcast spun off most of its NBCUniversal cable channels this month, including CNBC and MS NOW, creating a new company called Versant. The result hasn’t been pretty. Versant shares have plunged about 25% from Monday’s $45.17 opening price. On Thursday, Versant shares were selling for about $32.50. (Versant has said it expected volatility earlyon as large index funds sold shares to rebalance their portfolios).

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Paramount has argued that fluctuations in Netflix’s stock also reduces the value of the Netflix offer.

“Throughout this process, we have worked hard for WBD shareholders and remain committed to engaging with them on the merits of our superior bid and advancing our ongoing regulatory review process,” Ellison said.

Paramount is relying on equity backing from three Middle Eastern sovereign wealth funds, including Saudi Arabia. It turned to Apollo Global for much of its debt financing. Warner said this week that Paramount’s proposed $94 billion debt and equity financing package would make its proposed takeover of Warner the largest leveraged buyout ever.

Amid the stalemate, Paramount and Warner stock held steady. Paramount was trading around $12.36, while Warner shares are hovering around $28.50 on Thursday.

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Movie Review: A real-life ’70s hostage drama crackles in Gus Van Sant’s ‘Dead Man’s Wire’

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Movie Review: A real-life ’70s hostage drama crackles in Gus Van Sant’s ‘Dead Man’s Wire’

It plays a little loose with facts but the righteous rage of “Dog Day Afternoon” is present enough in Gus Van Sant’s “Dead Man’s Wire,” a based-on-a-true-tale hostage thriller that’s as deeply 1970s as it is contemporary.

In February 1977, Tony Kiritsis walked into the Meridian Mortgage Company in downtown Indianapolis and took one of its executives, Dick Hall, hostage. Kiritsis held a sawed-off shotgun to the back of Hall’s head and draped a wire around his neck that connected to the gun. If he moved too much, he would die.

The subsequent standoff moved to Kiritsis’ apartment and eventually concluded in a live televised news conference. The whole ordeal received some renewed attention in a 2022 podcast dramatization starring Jon Hamm.

But in “Dead Man’s Wire,” starring Bill Skarsgård as Kiritsis, these events are vividly brought to life by Van Sant. It’s been seven years since Van Sant directed, following 2018’s “Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot,” and one of the prevailing takeaways of his new film is that that’s too long of a break for a filmmaker of Van Sant’s caliber.

Working from a script by Austin Kolodney, the filmmaker of “My Own Private Idaho” and “Good Will Hunting” turns “Dead Man’s Wire” into not a period-piece time capsule but a bracingly relevant drama of outrage and inequality. Tony feels aggrieved by his mortgage company over a land deal the bank, he claims, blocked. We’re never given many specifics, but at the same time, there’s little doubt in “Dead Man’s Wire” that Tony’s cause is just. His means might be desperate and abhorrent, but the movie is very definitely on his side.

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That’s owed significantly to Skarsgård, who gives one of his finest and least adorned performances. While best known for films like “It,” “The Crow” and “Nosferatu,” here Skarsgård has little more than some green polyester and a very ’70s mustache to alter his looks. The straightforward, jittery intensity of his performance propels “Dead Man’s Wire.”

Yet Van Sant’s film aspires to be a larger ensemble drama, which it only partially succeeds at. Tony’s plight is far from a solitary one, as numerous threads suggest in Kolodney’s fast-paced script. First and foremost is Colman Domingo as a local DJ named Fred Temple. (If ever there were an actor suited, with a smooth baritone, to play a ’70s radio DJ, it’s Domingo.) Tony, a fan, calls Fred to air his demands. But it’s not just a media outlet for him. Fred touts himself as “the voice of the people.”

Something similar could be said of Tony, who rapidly emerges as a kind of folk hero. As much as he tortures his hostage (a very good Dacre Montgomery), he’s kind to the police officers surrounding him. And as he and Dick spend more time together, Dick emerges as a kind of victim, himself. It’s his father’s bank, and when Tony gets M.L. Hall (Al Pacino) on the phone, he sounds painfully insensitive, sooner ready to sacrifice his son than acknowledge any wrongdoing.

Pacino’s presence in “Dead Man’s Wire” is a nod to “Dog Day Afternoon,” a movie that may be far better — but, then again, that’s true of most films in comparison to Sidney Lumet’s unsurpassed 1975 classic. Still, Van Sant’s film bears some of the same rage and disillusionment with the meatgrinder of capitalism as “Dog Day.”

There’s also a telling, if not entirely successful subplot of a local TV news reporter (Myha’la) struggling against stereotypes. Even when she gets the goods on the unspooling news story, the way her producer says to “chop it up” and put it on air makes it clear: Whatever Tony is rebelling against, it’s him, not his plight, that will be served up on a prime-time plate.

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It doesn’t take recent similar cases of national fascination, such as Luigi Mangione, charged with killing a healthcare executive, to see contemporary echoes of Kiritsis’ tale. The real story is more complicated and less metaphor-ready, of course, than the movie, which detracts some from the film’s gritty sense of verisimilitude. Staying closer to the truth might have produced a more dynamic movie.

But “Dead Man’s Wire” still works. In the film, Tony’s demands are $5 million and an apology. It’s clear the latter means more to him than the money. The tragedy in “Dead Man’s Wire” is just how elusive “I’m sorry” can be.

“Dead Man’s Wire,” a Row K Entertainment release, is rated R for language throughout. Running time: 105 minutes. Three stars out of four.

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