Michael Jackson – Thriller

For all of Quincy Jones' astonishing versatility, combining the analog warmth of big band jazz with the elegant production of the early digital '80s, there is one work that surpasses them all: Thriller, the best-selling album of all time.

On his title track, Jones brings half a century of music to his elaborate, theatrical yet funky arrangement: it's like something from the vaudeville or vaudeville era, magnified to the maximalist '80s. The brass fanfares carry the song and Jones stuffs the rest like a Hollywood movie with a budget for extras, with everything from narrative flourishes like the wolf howl to deft jazz details. Check out the little organ noise just before Jackson starts singing, or the revealing funk guitar melody deep in the mix in the chorus.

Donna Summer – State of Independence

A great music producer needs a directorial vision – something that has come naturally to Jones since his days as an orchestra conductor – as well as technical flair and an impresario's eye and ear for talent. All of these qualities came together spectacularly on “State of Independence,” a cover of a kind of cosmic reggae song from Vangelis and Yes singer Jon Anderson, with Jones recognizing the potential of adding heavier drums to propel him into the pop charts . He also flushed his Rolodex to bring together the backing choir of dreams, consisting of Jackson, Lionel Richie, Dionne Warwick, Stevie Wonder and about a dozen other stars.

Quincy Jones – Ai No Corrida

Jones' instinct for scoring was even more pronounced here. He sniffed gold in an unfairly flopped single from Chaz Jankel, a member of Ian Dury's Blockheads, who came up with an eight-minute funk-pop song inspired by the violent erotic infatuations depicted in Nagisa Oshima's film “In the Realm of The Senses had achieved solo fame – admittedly not the most obvious audience favorite. The madness of Jankel's spirited original is tempered by Jones, but its biting sophistication provides its own joys – and ensured it was ultimately a hit.

Helen Merrill – Don’t explain

Recorded just before Christmas 1954, this song is like the first snowflakes covering a window pane: barren, beautiful, melancholic and full of wonder. Jones was in his early 20s when he arranged and conducted this recording of jazz singer Merrill, and he already worked his magic, assembling what was actually a fairly rich instrumental palette – electric guitar, flute, piano, double bass, trumpet, drums and Merrill's vocals – seem minimalist .

George Benson – Give Me the Night

A funk machine operating to almost diabolical perfection, the rhythm track to Benson's 1980 US Top 5 hit seems to have discovered the secret of perpetual motion. Jones' genius was to use a surprisingly smooth, perfectly consistent four-on-the-floor beat and then make everything else funky: bass, guitar, Benson's elastic vocals. There is also jazz erudition again in the cheerful and silly backing vocals of scat singer Patti Austin. (From the same year, the Brothers Johnson hit “Stomp!”, produced by Jones, is a cheerful companion piece.)

Quincy Jones – Desafinado

It began as a gentle and subtle bossa nova song by Antônio Carlos Jobim and was then taken up a notch by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd in their popular 1962 samba recording. Jones then gave it an even greater jolt of joie de vivre in his big band version – his ear well attuned to the sweep of Brazilian rhythms, while at the same time imbuing the tune with a palpably American sass and confidence (some would say arrogance). He also hired very hip personnel, including Lalo Schifrin on piano and Rahsaan Roland Kirk on some chirpy flute lines.

Lesley Gore – It’s my party

Gore's situation is bad enough on the page: she can't figure out where her boyfriend Johnny has gone, but things aren't looking good considering a lady named Jane is also absent. Soon they both march back into the party with a ring on Jane's finger, and Jones actively makes it creepy, while the party around the singer's escalating breakdown is still in full swing, with trumpets parrying briskly in insensitive major keys , and backing singers who form a choir of bullies (“Johnny has goooooone, ooooh…”). A masterpiece of theatrical pop that has rightly found its way into the cultural lexicon.

Quincy Jones – I’ll miss you in the morning

From the fantastic but terribly titled 1978 album “Sounds…and Stuff Like That!”, you have the great pleasure of hearing Luther Vandross sing over top production from Jones that combines the sequins of the disco era with the cashmere of R&B slow jam connects. The synthesizer solo, while a product of its time, adds a jazz edge that few other songs of its kind have ever had, and Patti Austin's chorus is solid yet euphoric songcraft.

Sarah Vaughan – It could happen to you

This recording of the vocal jazz standard, backed by the powerful Svend Saaby Danish Choir and lush orchestration, exudes Disney wonderment that actually serves to further ironize the lyrics that warn hopeless romantics about self-preservation. The arrangements here are by Canadian composer and conductor Robert Farnon, who inspired Jones to speak so eloquently about the craft of production and music-making: “Farnon enveloped (Vaughan) in the velvet of affection and respect. She replied in kind; The instrumentalists and the choir were also caught up in this mutual flow of love – a musician’s love for a challenge that allows him to use all his abilities to the maximum.”

James Ingram and Michael McDonald – Yah Mo B There

Jones was 50 when this film came out in 1983, but had embraced digital technology with the enthusiasm of someone half his age. He indulges in some of the gigantic drum machine fills that characterized much of the decade's epic pop, but keeps things relatively low-key, relying on the vocal strengths of Ingram and McDonald's. Still, jazz, funk or disco purists might have felt that Jones had gone too far into '80s slickness – at first glance we're a long way from Helen Merrill. And yet in many ways we are not, as Jones' production and arrangements remain just as masterful and poetic. Hear how a digital synthesizer mimics the choir's singing and is subtly replaced by a human backup singer who howls far away in the mix, evoking the song's themes of human pain and divine power before the lyrics are even spoken.