When I was about 6 or 7 years old, my best friends mother was a backup singer for Quincy Jones, and his father some sort of stage tech. When she passed away from cancer, Jones came to the funeral and let all us kids (some grieving, some just confused) ride in his limo. Then he played trumpet at the service and all the parents cried. This has nothing to do with how he lives his now (or then), but it's a nice, if fuzzy, memory I haven't shared in a very long time.
Also, somehow we ended up with all the flowers from the service so for the next week our house looked like a Miami brunch spot during Easter.
Re: sucking. Are we talking Early Beatles, when they played to drunks in German cellars/clubs, or the guys who made Rubber Soul and Sgt. Pepper and The White Album?
Cause if it's the latter, I gotta quibble or two with your possibly slanderous, certainly scandalous, un-supported-by-facts Headline.
TL;DR: Mudede lets on that he believes any random made-up story, so long as Quincy Jones said it, evidence to the contrary be damned. Just like any responsible journalist would.
Also, somehow we ended up with all the flowers from the service so for the next week our house looked like a Miami brunch spot during Easter.
Cause if it's the latter, I gotta quibble or two with your possibly slanderous, certainly scandalous, un-supported-by-facts Headline.