Mr. Jones welcomed me, an unknown photographer, into his home with a tour—and there was nothing ostentatious, no trophies anywhere, and the ceilings were lower than I expected. Mr. Jones, with warmth and openness, offered me a cup of tea, making me feel like he had all the time in the world.
Until the release of the documentary on Netflix called, “Quincy,” this week, the last thing we heard from Mr. Jones was in Vulture magazine, where an esteemed journalist, David Marchese, pulled surprising quotations that incited readership across demographics—including soundbites about who Brando has slept with and that Michael Jackson “stole” a bunch of songs.
…While it’s true that celebrity journalism has the hard task of balancing between being a sycophant and being exploitative, a writer, especially if experienced and respected, should resist looking for soundbites at whatever cost.
No matter how much a journalist has done his or her research, soundbites seem to stick and sell. Readership and advertisers always want catchy content. And while it’s true that celebrity journalism has the hard task of balancing between being a sycophant and being exploitative, a writer, especially if experienced and respected, should resist looking for soundbites at whatever cost.
I understand a journalist can print what he gets, but the entire “interview,” as cropped down by Vulture, struck a disrespectful tone to me. I’m more than sure the documentary shows a complete take on Quincy.
In the room where I took this photograph of Quincy Jones, there hangs a painting that Miles Davis gifted him involving lots of geometric shapes. I don’t know if I was looking at tits and horns and asses, or if they were just circles of fifths, but it was everything you’d expect from a Miles Davis painting.
These are the kind of details I’d like to know about.